


Numbers

by Alithea, slightlyjillian



Series: Numbers [5]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Espionage, F/F, F/M, Gangster, M/M, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 60
Words: 96,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alithea/pseuds/Alithea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark gangster AU.</p><p>Make the right connections, know the right people, have a certain set of skills--you may be assigned a Number, putting you in true authority and extraordinary danger.</p><p>An underground power struggle rages between those who want to stay within the influence of the Numbers and those who want to get out. A lone, good cop strives to find a way to create justice in a city that doesn't remember how. Loves are found and lost and used as leverage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Working the Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> Alithea and slightlyjillian have been writing Gundam Wing fiction for a while and recently decided to collect _Numbers_ here. We're always on the prowl for new and old stories with the Ozzies (slightlyjillian having no small love for Lt. Nichol!). In case others feel the same, we wanted to offer what we had. We're a little unconventional at times when writing to entertain ourselves, but we do love the show. Please enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilde finds herself deeper in the OZ than she'd like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea.

It was dark and the bar was cascading with emotion. The nerves of the remaining patrons, all big guys, all ex-soldiers, were obviously hanging by bare threads as the Lady, also known as Eleven (and the number meant everything and nothing), paced the room as her guards held their machine guns defensively. There was no doubt they would shoot on command, and indiscriminately at that.

The Lady, was exactly that. She looked as if she had stepped off the cover of the latest women's magazine, wearing a tasteful maroon suit with matching heels and a white blouse, hair neatly pinned back under a lady's fedora that matched the color of the suit. And then, there were the glasses. Circular wireless frames reflecting the low light of the bar, shielding brown eyes that narrowed coldly as she passed a certain patron.

She stopped by the man and placed a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, she tightened her grip and bent down to whisper into his ear, "Hello, Septum." She grinned as the tension in the room grew. "My, my Mr. Seven how far you have come. And, here, everyone thought you were dead. Stand up please. Don't make a fuss."

The man stood up. He was burly, taller and more muscular than the rest of the men in the bar. He towered over the Lady, but shook under her gaze. He swallowed, hard. The gulp was audible through the room. He took a breath as she stepped away from him. His teeth chattered slightly as she moved behind her guards.

"Sorry Seven, but you know how it is?" She looked over at a guard who did not have a gun but a can of gasoline in his hands. The guard moved forward and spread the gas along the floor. "When you become a number in this business you can never leave," the Lady said.

She snapped her fingers.

Machine gun fire filled the room and bodies hit the floor. As the last of the men in the bar fell to the ground the Lady stepped outside. A fire was lit behind her, engulfing the whole of the bar.

She grinned as she was let into her car. Her guards followed closely behind, and as the crew drove off the bar exploded spreading fire and glass into the streets.

Inside the car the Lady leaned back with contentment into her seat. She looked over at the young lady next to her, and removed her glasses. The young woman took the glasses and put them into a elegant case. The new smile that settled over the Lady's face was something soft and unlike the grin she had previously worn. There was a clear change in all of the woman's mannerisms. The young woman next to her, after carefully placing the glasses' case into the Lady's purse, then very meticulously removed the Lady's hat and the pins from her hair.

"All this fuss," the Lady said, her voice light and soft. "Tell me, what is it I am doing next?"

The young woman smiled as she brushed her fingers through the lady's shoulder length brown hair. "We're on our back from dinner and drinks. We're going back to the Barg- The yacht."

"Ah yes." the Lady said, in something bordering on recollection. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could stay at a hotel instead?"

"His...His Excellency has insisted, for your safety, that you stay on the yacht tonight." The young woman paused and then added, "He does worry over you so, but perhaps another night."

"Indeed, he does and I worry for him..." She paused, looked over at the young woman and grinned, stretching out a hand to grace the young woman's cheek. "How lovely you look tonight, Hilde?"

*****

Nichol had dunked his head into the sink. It was full of ice cold water, and he rubbed at his face viciously. He stood up and looked at his reflection. Someone stood behind him. He sneered.

"Look Barton, I've just finished washing off the gore from this night's debacle." He growled and grabbed for a towel. "Twenty, goddamned, Twenty all over my face because the cops showed up and someone got an itchy trigger finger."

The young man in the doorway shrugged. "The police will find police bullets and that's it. They'll think they killed the man in their protection."

It was true, but Nichol still ended up with his face spattered in gore because of the incident. Someone in the organization was a mole. Someone close to the Lady was working for the police or the F.B.I.. He felt it in his guts. Barton handed him a clean shirt and he hid the pleasure he felt in such a simple gesture. It was damned sloppy and he knew it.

He put on the clean shirt and started to button it. Barton was a new member of the Lady's men, and that meant he would be the first one to be investigated. Nichol being an expert at exterminating moles and rats told himself that no matter his personal feelings he'd always do his job right.

"Look, Barton, the Lady is at the Barge now. She had quite the night with Seven, but...confidentially, she'll be a little distracted tonight, so how about we grab a beer down at the club? I hear Marquis is bringing a few of his boys down for the evening as well. Whaddaya say?"

Barton nodded.

"Good." Nichol left the bathroom and grabbed his tie off the bed and collected his hat. "I'll show you how the OZ party."

******

Hilde was in a precarious position. She was working for both sides, and she felt, as every double agent begins to feel, that she wasn't sure which side she really wanted to win any longer. That feeling was going to end up getting her killed. There was a definite mole in the organization, but it wasn't her. She had learned to be extremely careful about things. She left no trails. The thought of another mole bothered her though, because it wasn't as if she could discover who it was an properly introduce herself so that the other spy would stay out of her way.

She took a deep breath and slid out of the Lady's engulfing embrace and got dressed.

Things were getting complicated for her. Very, very complicated, in ways she was not prepared or trained for. She had had a feeling when she was first recruited that there was something different about Lady Une. She now knew that different was just the tip of the iceberg.

The Lady was two people in one, and no one in the OZ seemed to care. In fact, she felt as if the boss, Thirteen, encouraged the spilt. It made deniability easy. It made it possible for Lady Une to act as the Oz's lawyer in court, fighting the injustice of racial stereotyping, without any knowledge of her other personality's dark and menacing predilections. In public Lady Une made statements to the press denying that the mysterious mafia assassin called Eleven even existed, but she was Eleven.

Hilde had tried to figure out a way to properly gather the evidence proving the split. It was not an easy thing to do. Even as one of Lady Une's girls she didn't have total access to information. Even as Une's favorite, and there was something terrifying and awesome about being the woman's favorite, Eleven kept things close to the chest. Eleven was the mastermind, and Eleven couldn't just be reigned in with the absence of the glasses. Hilde wasn't sure what the trigger was that called forth one personality over the other.

She dressed. She laid out Lady Une's clothing for the next day. She slipped out of the room and went on duty as a mole.

****

The bar was raucous and filled with members of the OZ.

Nichol was smoking a cigar and watching as one of Marquis's men took his fifth drink and proceeded to do his rendition of "Luck Be a Lady". He chuckled and glanced over at Barton who was watching the scene with an arched eyebrow.

"They say," Nichol laughed, "that old Otto there writes musicals. Wants to be the next Gershwin."

"Who says that?"

"Oh it's the general rumor." Nichol took a breath and looked the young man over. He tried to sense if Barton was being quiet because he was just that type of guy or if he was trying to guard something deeper. "Do you like rumors, Barton?"

"No." He waved a waitress over and ordered a shot of bourbon. "I prefer the truth."

Nichol found himself nodding. Barton wasn't a mole. He couldn't be, and now he was watching the young man a little too closely. Damned sloppy of him to do that. Damned sloppy, but the young man's features just pulled him in.

"The truth is," Barton said and leaned over to Nichol as he took his shot from the waitress. "I think we need to start looking at the people close to the Lady."

"Do you?"

"Her girls are close to sensitive information and they don't take the same oaths we do." Barton mentioned. "They aren't really part of the OZ."

Nichol's brow furrowed and he nodded. He wondered why he hadn't seen it before. It was pretty clear to him now. It had to be one of the girls.

"Her favorite," Nichol asked.

Barton shrugged. "Be careful there."

"Oh?" He inched forward and asked, "What am I missing there that makes it dangerous?"

The young man grinned and brought two fingers to his lips and parted them. Nichol's eyes went wide and the he laughed heartily, slapping Barton on the back.

"Observant! You're an observant guy, Barton." That was it though, that girl, the favorite would have to undergo some close scrutiny.

Nichol ordered another round for the group. The bar grew louder.

******

"You want to what?"

Hilde winced at the much expected overreaction from her contact. Duo looked about ready to burst into a million pieces. She put a finger to her lips and he settled into an excited calm.

"Are you nuts?" He asked softly. "I mean, really and truly nuts?"

She shook her head. He didn't even let her explain herself.

"I mean, if you do this, and remain a double for them...Good God! If you got caught Hilde!"

She took in a breath and crossed her arms over her chest. "Shut up!" She commanded. "There is another mole in the organization, one that is working with much less finesse, maybe purposefully, to expose me and our operation. I don't know who it is. I have to do this, Duo. If I become one of the OZ there's less suspicion."

"But-"

"But, nothing. I'm going in deeper because that's my job. It's your job to make sure you can pull me out."

Duo looked her over. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and then sighed, smiling. "Okay. Okay. You go in deeper. I'll pull you out, but listen Hils...Make sure you're not doing this for other reasons."

She gave him a quizzical look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't want to bring it up, but sometimes I wonder if maybe you're too close to the Lady."

Hilde chuckled. The chuckle grew to a malicious laugh. "Because I want to become one of the OZ?"

Duo nodded and tried to shush her quiet, but she kept laughing. People in the dinner were beginning to glance their way.

Hilde stopped laughing. She shut her eyes and brushed her short black hair back with her fingers. She shook her head. "Lady Une doesn't want me to join up. Neither does Eleven. They are both against it, totally and completely."

"But you said-"

"I convinced them," she interrupted sharply, "that it was for the best, given the recent events and the suspicions of her closest officer."

Duo paled a bit. "Hilde..."

"Let me do my job, Duo. I almost have them. I almost have proof beyond my own eyewitness accounts of her condition, the split."

He nodded. "Okay. Okay you win. Just...please...be careful."

******

They walled in the rain together and Hilde held the umbrella as high as she could to keep the Lady dry. They were to go to a special club to pick up some receipts and to celebrate Hilde's new status. Lady Une was wearing her glasses, and Eleven was in control. She grinned and took the umbrella from Hilde.

 

"Ma'am?" Hilde questioned.

"Nichol doesn't like you, Miss Schbeiker. Do you know why?"

Her mouth hung momentarily agape and she shook her head. She knew that already. She knew that Nichol thought she was a mole. He was right, but he was also wrong. She wasn't the mole he was really looking for.

Eleven's grin stretched, showing teeth. It was not a good sign to ever be on the receiving end of that grin. "He thinks you're a spy."

"Oh, well, I am." Hilde said softly, nervous.

The Lady inched closer and drew Hilde in. She tilted her head up and stared back at her coldly, dipping her head to take Hilde's lips. She pulled away leaving the young woman panting for breath.

"Are you shocked, Miss Schbeiker?"

"Yes." It was rushed out in a breath.

"I know you're technically hers, but that does make you mine as well." Eleven said. "I've promised her that I won't let you come to harm. I need to keep that promise. I can't run the risk of her slipping back into control."

"I see." She felt as if she were a dead woman.

"She loves you, you know? She likes to pretend she loves him, but she doesn't." Eleven took Hilde's arm and held it in that notorious grip. "Look at me."

Hilde did as she was told. If Eleven knew she was a double agent it was all over. Eleven didn't let traitors live.

"As of now you are no longer a spy. That… is a direct order. As of now you are my second in command."

"What?"

Eleven smiled. "He got very close to finding you out. Nichol is a smart boy and he thinks he holds the reigns because of my condition, but he's gotten too self important. He let his guard down and so..." She paused and released Hilde's arm. She removed her glasses. The facial expression didn't change.

Hilde took in a deep breath. "It's a ruse."

The Lady nodded. "No one in their right mind would allow a split personality general in their organization, but it plays nicely doesn't it?" Her expression softened. "You have a choice to make. You've taken a serious oath and I expect you to honor it."

"And Nichol?"

"Is being dealt with." She tossed the umbrella away. "Hilde...you do so much better at my side than theirs. You have an hour. Don't disappoint me."

*****

She looked at herself in the mirror. She had only been able to get as far as a coffee shop. She tried to trace the parts of herself that were real and true. She was a double. She always had been. She was caught, and when caught a good double makes a choice and becomes one. She splashed some water on her face and then took a seat in a booth. She ordered a cup of coffee.

"My name is Barton."

She looked up and watched the young man sit down. He was one of the OZ, a newer recruit.

"I'm-"

"You're the Lady's favorite. Everyone knows that." He waved the waitress back over and ordered a coffee.

Hilde stared at him for a minute and then said, "It was you."

He nodded.

"Did you kill Nichol?"

"I did what I had to do to preserve my cover, the way you are about to do what you need to do."

She narrowed her eyes at him as he smiled up at the waitress and accepted his coffee.

"Did Duo-"

"Two, you mean?"

She sucked in a deep breath. There were too many layers to this game, names and numbers. She wanted something simple. She nodded.

"You're Three?" She asked.

He nodded.

"And I'm an expendable numberless name?"

"No, not anymore."

"Why?"

Barton took a sip from his cup. "Someone has to keep Une together. You do a bang up a job, besides, you love her...don't you?"

Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and anger.

"It doesn't matter to me." He said.

"What do you want me to do?"

Barton, Three, smiled. "Your hour is up. She's waiting for you up at the hotel."

*****

The hotel was owned by the OZ. It was decorated in a horrible gold and plum motif. Hilde was still damp from the rain as she took the elevator up to the appropriate room. As the doors slid open she hesitated for a moment. She thought about going up to the top and jumping off. She thought of running, just running as far as she could go. Then she thought of the Lady. The real Lady who thought she was in control, and maybe she really was, maybe there never really was a split like Eleven had said, but there was a chance-

She stepped out into the hallway and walked slowly but purposefully to the room. She knocked on the door.

Eleven answered.

"Ah, Miss Schbeiker, you've made it."

The room was dark and there was a tense feeling of emotions within. A small lamp was turned on revealing two men tied to chairs with gags in their mouths. One of them was Nichol. The other was Duo.

It was a wonder she was still standing up right.

"You know Mr. Nichol of course, and the other...I believe his name is Duo, but I call him Two." She stepped over to him and pinched his bruised cheek. "Oh, Two, what a mess you've made of everything. Three's always been better at this game than you, but then again...he's working as a triple."

Eleven stepped back over to Hilde.

"I don't let traitors live, Hilde. So, here is the deal I am going to make with you." She reached out to a nearby table and grabbed something. "You need to make a choice and tell me who the real traitor is. And by tell, I mean you have to kill one of these gentlemen."

The Lady held out the object she had grabbed from the table. It was a switchblade. Hilde took it in her hand. She shut her eyes and pressed the button on the switchblade. It clicked into place and she opened her eyes again. She went to a chair and the man there looked up at her with pleading eyes, so she turned and looked at the Lady instead. She took a deep breath and drew the knife as hard as she could against the man's throat.

The Lady grinned. "Thank you, Hilde," she said softly. "You do look so beautiful in this light."


	2. Against the Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An honest cop in a city of thieves, Wufei slowly puts the puzzle together and the odds are definitely not in his favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alithea writes mafia better than I do, but I wanted a sequel and she gave her blessing to let me mess with her 'verse.  
> -written by slightlyjillian

"And that..." Wufei dropped the recorder on the desk top with enough force the nearby stapler flipped on its side. "Is why we don't use women on these deep cover missions."

"Who was the voice at the beginning?" Sally asked. Not taking her feet down from where she'd propped them next to the keyboard, but she did raise her eyebrows at the display of office supply violence. "The man's voice."

Wufei snatched back the recording, listening to the chirps indicating backwards movement of the sound. Holding the device near his ear, he stared at the tiles in the ceiling.

The male tenor said, "Please enjoy this recorded information while you wait." Then the quality changed to a more distanced source. Air movement, a cough, what might have been melting ice breaking in a glass. Then a voice, "Ah, Miss Schbeiker, you've made it."

Wufei punched the off button along the side with his thumb and scowled at the silver casing as if it might speak unannounced. He groaned as he sank into the chair on the side of the desk opposite from Sally.

"Would you like a juice box?" Sally offered, finding one in her desk drawer. The cardboard might have crumpled from Wufei's glare through the shadow of his fingers shielding his brow. "You'll want to keep your sugar levels normal. Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"I didn't get a lot of sleep last night," Wufei admitted.

"And I guess that wasn't because you had a hot date," Sally put the juice box back and pulled out a snack bar.

"Sal, stop it," he groaned sitting up and leaning over his knees. "I'd take one of those."

"Last one," Sally chewed, smiling mischievously. "Really, though. You're allowed to have a life outside of here."

"And what sort of life would that be?" Wufei's argument lacked energy. He was tired. "A vulnerable one. I haven't had much luck with the..."

"Hey," Sally stopped him. "She wouldn't want you to be lonely. You've already made it very clear that you don't want to talk about her, and your psych evals have always come back normal..."

"I should have guessed you'd look at those." He put his forehead in his hands this time.

"I dropped out of med school for a reason," Sally paused, then laughed. "Or I should say I joined med school _briefly_ for a reason."

"Who do we have left? In the case?" Wufei clarified, indicating the folder that Sally still had in her lap.

"No one." She did take her feet down then.

"Marvelous." Wufei stood and looked around the empty room. The high windows were mostly closed except for one set where the open blinders revealed a pitch black night. "I suppose I should go home. Feed the cat."

***

"It's a real cutthroat job around here." Trowa sipped at his champagne glass and his head turned to survey the rest of the posh room. White table clothes, far too white and freshly pressed. In the corner a string quartet butchered some classical piece, but Trowa never cared that much for music. He could play though. Playing was a talent.

To be fair, one of the musicians had talent. The furrow in the blond boy's brow tightened every time his companions fouled up another measure of music.

"I'm sure you'd know all about that." Four's laugh sounded like crushed glass under her designer shoes. "And stop looking at Quatre."

"Is that his name?" Trowa flickered his gaze to study Dorothy's reaction.

"Like you didn't know," Dorothy stabbed a shrimp with her fork and bit on it with delicately savage teeth.

"I once knew a pretty boy like him," Trowa mused. "I learned to count on his fingers."

Dorothy swallowed and made a pleased sound in her throat, "Oh, I bet you did."

***

The sound of punches could be heard from the hall, so Hilde quickened her step. Eleven had asked for a clean towel. The hall was slick tile and perpetually smelled of warm chlorine from the pool.

Opening the door, Hilde saw the red punching bag shake. The next blow moved it further to the side, and the girl was able to see the Lady had her thin bangs pressed flat against her forehead from exertion. The shine of glass indicated that Une had seen Hilde's arrival at the same moment. Her lips lifted into a smile.

"Just in time, I have a present for you." Une pulled off one glove and reached out her hand.

Hilde skipped forward, offering the towel. She noticed two things that she should have realized sooner, except for her predisposition to zero her focus in on Une. First, as Une wiped her face, the towel absorbed the red from her skin. The sweat was mingled with blood. Second, the punching bag was held down by the extra weight of a body. Not one behind the bag as one would expect. Instead, the OZ member known as Gregor was strapped to the front. Half of his face was mottled green and purple, clearly Une had been focusing on her weaker left hook.

"I," Hilde sucked in a breath. "I know him. He grew up in the same neighborhood that I did."

"Yes, I have intelligence for a reason, Hilde," Une's tone was indulgent.

"What's my present?" Hilde turned away from the nearly senseless man.

"He was heard making a query about how Eleven might take up with a street rat," Une gave back the towel. Hilde couldn't avoid touching the blood; the material was liberally saturated.

"He insulted you," Hilde frowned.

Une lifted Hilde's chin with one of the gloves, "Of course, you would think that. Hilde, listen carefully. This is the lesson. No one, no one, insults what is mine."

"And my present?" The girl struggled to understand.

Une huffed a breath through smiling lips, "I intend to finish with another set to practice my right hook." The gagged man, seemingly senseless before, violently flinched causing the entire contraption to shake. "I'm so very much looking forward to it."

"Nothing left of him to recognize," Hilde mused. "Is that how you give me a present?"

"No, lovely, my gift to you is the towel."

***

Wufei unlocked his apartment door. Instinctively, he checked the interior hall in both directions before pushing forward on the door. Inside, he hit the light and surveyed his sparse belongings. Everything in place, even the cactus which was once again toppled over onto its side, dirt scattered over the coffee table.

"Shenlong," Wufei called, indulgently. The cat, mostly white except for gold and black markings on the ears, would hide until Wufei set the cactus back upright and cleaned the mess. His cat being particular about staying out of sight until the evidence was taken away. The perfect cat for a detective constantly showing up at the scene of a crime after the evidence was taken away. He wiped up the soil.

Sitting in the thrift store chair which was too much of a bargain for Wufei to pass-by, he sank into the gaudy teal cushion. He needed to finish making a cover. The bolt of material still sat in the bag by the sewing machine.

Eventually, Shenlong bounded onto his lap, putting her face into his and taking a long breath. "Hey, partner," Wufei said, affectionately letting his hand caress her face until it dropped into his lap.

Partner.

Who would know how to show up at the scene ahead of the crime investigation team? He systematically relived every call. Did Sally get there first? Always? Of course not. He shook his head and, insulted by his lapse in attention, Shenlong jumped back to the floor. Wufei leaned forward, knitting his fingers together and pressing the thumbs into his lower lip.

Once stirred, the dead ashes of his memory were producing heat, but not one of them would light up the picture of intrigue and crisscrossed loyalties.

He closed his eyes, remembering a meditation that his wife had taught him. His jaw tightened as his imagination brought her face to mind. He couldn't hear her laugh, but she never seemed able to carry a somber expression in his recollections of her.

"The laughing one," Wufei said aloud. His eyes opened and Shenlong stared back from across the room before she resumed a careful tongue washing of her front paw. "Duo," Wufei muttered as he stood and paced the room. "Why did she pick him? Who was he?"

"No," Wufei stopped near the window and looked down into the street. The lights changed and the cars began to roll forward. People on foot hurried to cross. He could just make out the thinnest sprinkle of steady rain. "No, she _knew_ him. She _believed_ he was... her handler."

But the paperwork said Hilde reported to Sally. Degrees of separation. Why would Sally distance herself from the mole and falsify reports submitted to her by Duo? Not Duo, Two.

"Damn, it all, Shenlong. If it isn't always the ones I end up trusting." Wufei ran his fingers through his hair. Then he chuckled. Throwing his head back, Wufei laughed. His reflection in the mirror smeared with patterns of flowing water.

***

"I'd rather not right now," Trowa said into the phone. He still used a rotary and twirled the cord around his finger. One of his legs hooked up on the arm of the chair. The other nudged the torso draped over his knee.

"Bastard," Nichol rasped. Trowa let his grip tighten on the scar across Nichol's neck.

"Really, Five, I'm in the middle of something. Right. Now." Trowa unceremoniously dropped the receiver back on it's hook with a resounding clank of the interior bell.

"Won't you let me sleep, just rest here." Nichol's voice grated.

"If you think you're finished," the taller man replied, indifferently. "I'd rather not hear you talk. Better uses for that mangled tongue." Trowa pulled up with his arm still holding Nichol in the grip of his fingers. Then finding it difficult to stop smiling long enough to actually kiss the surly man, Trowa pushed him away.

Trowa stood then, adjusting himself back into his pants, and glanced around the room. He patted his chest as if searching imaginary pockets. "I'm pretty sure I was in the middle of something."

Nichol growled, wiping at his mouth, but he stayed on the ground.

Spotting the easel, Trowa crossed the room in two strides, "Paints!" he exclaimed, snatching up the brush and began to squeeze new colors onto his palette. He spun and pointed the business end of the brush toward Nichol. "Bang!"

"You're insane," Nichol challenged. He struggled to enunciate the words, although he kept his eyes on the bite marks Trowa had left on his fingers.

"Oh yes. Catherine used to tell me that all the time." Trowa grinned brightly, his eyes smiling half-moons under his forelock of brown hair. "But you love me."

***

Relena pouted. Her father, once again, was missing her birthday party in order to conduct business. The card saying as much had been delivered by one of his Alliance men, so Relena hadn't been able to retaliate against the messenger.

Of course, he didn't care about things such as how well their family looked in the entertainment section of the city papers. He already owned the reporters that wrote front page articles on his political achievements. A little bad press regarding Relena's social failures would hardly dent his accounts receivable.

"I'm going to call Heero," she shouted as soon as someone answered her rapid speed dialing on the pink cell phone. "If my own father can't make an appearance, by God I'll start behaving in such a way he'll have to listen to me."

Sally laughed.

"Po?" Relena pulled the phone away from her ear to glare at it then said, "No one picked up until the P's?"

"You did just send a rather inappropriate text. We all know why you're calling," Sally's tone never stopped being mirthful. "And it takes only a few more letters in the alphabet to get to Yuy, although I very much doubt that One is going to take your call."

"He's changed his number," Relena admitted, dourly.

"Heero's never going to work for your father," Sally reminded. "The boy's weakness is his family and your ancestors did a pretty good job of assassinating all of his."

Relena sighed. Then added, "But he's going to need to procreate with someone!"

"Please tell me you didn't actually try that line on him?"

Relena paused, her frantic thoughts catching on another insult to her person. "P comes after N. Noin didn't answer me either."

"She's with me, actually." Sally's tone changed. "I told her not to answer, and that I would talk some sense into you instead. Enjoy your party."

"Aren't you going to be there?" Relena asked, stunned when the line went dead.

***

Sally's phone rang.

Noin reached for it to check the id. "Chang," she leaned up from the bed as her eyebrows lifted in genuine astonishment. "I'm impressed. Your boy only took... how long to figure it out?"

Sally leaned over Noin to take the phone back, the warmth of their tangled bodies drawing her back quickly to pull up the covers. "I'll talk to him later."

"He's going to catch you." Noin warned.

"He already has." Sally liked how Noin's eyes sparkled in the dim lights of their room. "But I have resources of my own."

"Barton? It sounded like he was... busy."

"I found a way for him to keep his toy." Sally let her knuckles trace the rounded cheeks of Noin's face. "That keeps him distracted. Eventually, he'll figure out what happened to Catherine, but until then, I have all the leverage."

"He's more cracked than Eleven," Noin shook her head.

"Don't underestimate either of them," Sally strongly cautioned. Then, perplexed, Sally lifted her head to the figure sitting against the wall. She asked, "Aren't you going to your sister's party?"

Milliardo shook his head.

Noin stretched an arm toward him, beckoning. "Don't just watch."


	3. Security in Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _At some point, Nichol had made a mistake. Or several mistakes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Knowledge was leverage. Confidence came with knowing who had you covered from the back, the rooftop and the gutters. Precarious as loyalty could be, playing the part of the fool bore a heavier price.

Nichol remembered a proverb his aunt had repeated with the switches of her husband's belt. "Better are the wounds of a friend, than kisses from your enemy," she'd say while making a much smaller Nichol recite the count of his punishment. His aunt hadn't known how closely his youthful understanding had clung to those words. He had much rather taken his aunt's hellfire temper than endure the attentions of her husband when she was gone.

Making sure that bastard died during the Five and Seven bank heist had probably been Nichol's most shining moment of success in OZ. He'd also gained the notice of Eleven and started hearing a nickname tossed around when they thought he didn't hear. Earnest.

At the time, he'd rolled his eyes figuring he'd been pegged as unrelenting with his goals. Or perhaps Eleven found his approach humorless. Sincere.

Later, much later, he learned that _earnest_ had another definition.

A tightness around his throat prevented him from speaking. Nichol didn't open his eyes before he'd tried to move his lips thereby finding the foreign pressure against his jaw. Behind closed eyelids, he had a vision of the knife. Somehow he hadn't felt the blade as it cut him open. The strange combination of adrenaline and disbelief had coursed through his veins like fire, that heat filled his head and his thoughts. Anger from betrayal overran all other sensations.

Later, much later, he'd recount those emotions on demand while ice traced the scar.

The bandages restricted his own sounds, but his ears were unstopped with the arrival of consciousness. Barton's murmurings puffed against Nichol's cheek in the pattern of poetic rhythms.

"It's going to be okay. How do I know it's going to be okay? Because we got through today. Today was a gift. You are a gift."

Teeth and tongue latched onto the fleshy lobe of Nichol's ear. Barton's lips moved, "I like the taste of metal. We should get you pierced."

Eleven's girl, her pet with the dark black hair, had put a knife to his neck. Nichol flinched in a delayed reaction, but just as quickly he heard a soothing coo. Two warm hands took Nichol's trembling fingers. From poor circulation, his extremities were cold even for the blanket he found weighing down his legs.

"I suppose I should have told you, but that would have ruined the surprise. Risk. Everything about you is a risk. Frankly, I didn't want to get your hopes up. She drives a hard bargain that one." Barton's nose pressed into Nichol's cheek, nuzzling along the edges of medical tape so that it pulled tight against his skin.

Nichol gradually opened his eyes, keeping them narrowed to the harsh light that filtered between his dark lashes. At an angle, he could see the quite close and leisurely gaze of the other man. Damn, he'd been so sure that Barton had been a safe bet. Someone Nichol could chase around, drink with and take home sometimes. He'd liked the way Barton's cheeks went red under the olive skin, finding that response made Nichol feel safe enough to drop his guard.

Nichol thought he had known who not to trust. Now the list of people to trust had to be filed back as an empty page. Not a single name on it. No one. Not even himself.

"I wish you could tell me what you were thinking," Barton said wistfully. "The doctors say it'll take time and patience, but everything went back to where it was before. You're fixed."

At some point, Nichol had made a mistake. Or several mistakes. One moment he'd been at the bar with Barton. Next moment, Nichol had been tied and gagged with a pounding headache from his temples. Some other jerk had twitched in a nearby seat knocking their elbows.

Nichol squeezed his eyes shut as the memory of the pain ignited a second response. He blinked back tears.

"Hey, hey," Barton reached out with his thumb to absorb the unintentional wetness of frustration. The other man sucked on the digit as if savoring an exotic spice. Then his eyes widened, sparkling green from the natural light now moving through the window. "I brought something for you."

Barton lifted a stuffed penguin into Nichol's line of half-blurred vision. The creature was small, about the size of Barton's hand, and it had yellow buttons for eyes.

"This is Gus. He's yours." Barton beamed, his cheeks blossomed into a rosy glow that reached like a fist into Nichol's stomach cranking a tighter twist. While shaking the toy, Barton repeated, "He's yours, so you can treat him however you want. Kind of like how you're mine."

The power shift had happened a long time before, if Nichol had ever had any authority to begin with since becoming Earnest. Earnest, an item of value given from one person to another thereby binding a contract.

As if anyone could _bind_ Trowa Barton.

"I thought I'd lose you too, but not this time. The gambit paid off so I can keep you." To lean closer, Barton put one knee up on the hospital bed. "I'll keep you safe."

Nichol knew then that Barton had put Nichol in that chair. Tied down his wrists with professional ease and fitted the restraints into his mouth. Actions which had left Nichol in Barton's sole authority.

The wounds of an ally?

Nichol groaned. A sound came from his throat, low and desperate.

"Oh," Barton immediately responded, pushing forward to catch his teeth into Nichol's lower lip. After tearing flesh, the contact changed to a breathy, warm kiss. Barton's tongue licked into the cuts. "Metal."

Or kisses of a foe?

Gus ended up pressed into Nichol's cheek as Barton settled his grip on either side on the pillow. The smile that lit up Barton's features still enticed the injured man who was now sore with something similar to pleasure.

Friend or enemy?

Earnestly, the fool couldn't determine. Perhaps Barton was, after all, both.


	4. Eleven of the Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven considers the Lady's attachment to Hilde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

"…pet."

The whispered insult hit the Lady's ears from across the room. The group of men thinking themselves unheard continued with their assumptions and commentary on things that were none of their business. She smiled and asked Hilde to go fetch the car, and then her attentions zeroed back in on the men. They looked familiar, but not being her own, she couldn't just have them hauled off and dealt with.

The other Numbers stepped out of the meeting room behind her and Five walked up to the group. Eleven grinned and stepped over to the other women. Five's men visibly paled.

"A quick word, Five?" She said softly.

Five glanced over at her men and arched an eyebrow.

"Which one?" Five asked as she and the Lady stepped away from the group.

"All of them were muttering things that were quite rude. I don't want there to be any internal decent, but I believe I made myself clear at the last meeting." Eleven pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Quite clearly. I'll deal with it."

"Good."

"May I ask-"

"I don't keep pets, Ms. Po. Pets have no free will. They are kept creatures. She is no pet. She's made a choice and has taken the oath. She is their equal, or rather, their better, given her position." Eleven paused and then asked, "Does that makes things clear enough?"

"Very." Five said. She stalked back over to her men. They didn't like the look on her face.

Eleven stepped off and out of the building. The car was waiting for her with Hilde inside. She smiled and the car drove off.

"Was there some sort of trouble?" Hilde asked and accepted the Lady's glasses.

"Nothing to worry over, I just had to remind Five of something." She took a breath and looked over at the young woman next to her. She reached out and touched Hilde's cheek. "You look lovely today. Did I buy you that fedora? It does really suit you."

"Yes."

"I do wish the others would take greater care with their appearance. It makes it hard to take them seriously when they dress like common ruffians." She leaned back into the plush interior of the car. "Where to next?"

"You have an appointment at the factory."

"Oh." Disappointment creased her brow. She looked Hilde over and then asked, "Soon?"

"In about an hour."

The Lady grinned. "An hour should give us enough time." She leaned forward and tapped on the driver's shoulder. "The hotel, please."

******

Eleven checked the clock on the nightstand of the hotel bed. Une was really too indulgent sometimes, but it would have been troublesome not to allow the Lady those moments she needed. She looked over at Hilde who was sleeping, which was quite odd. Hilde generally made a concerted effort to be awake and ready first, especially after that first night.

Eleven chuckled and got up. She turned the shower on and stepped into the icy water.

Hilde was an interesting surprise. Eleven had watched in the background as Une had drifted towards the young woman. The Lady preferred her over all the other girls and it took a while for Eleven to really know why, but it was because there was something light about the girl. There was something not easily tarnished and sweet about her. Of course Eleven didn't trust anyone that sweet and light, so she went digging for answers, unsurprised when she found one.

And then the Lady begged her, actually begged her to spare Hilde. She wasn't sure what to do with that and wasn't sure why she relented until that one night when Une got a little too aggressive for Eleven's taste and seduced the young woman into bed. It wasn't entirely shocking, after all Une wanted soft things. She liked kisses and caresses, but she generally got them from her other girls in a feather light unassuming way. That first night with Hilde had not been feather light at all.

Eleven recalled waking, expecting, though she had watched the entire seduction, someone else trapped beneath her. She was amused by the easy sleep that the girl was lost in, and unamused by the blue ribbon tied around the girl's wrists trapping her to the bed frame. That was her game. The Lady didn't play games like that.

When Hilde woke that night Eleven made it clear that she didn't care for the Lady's taste and informed the girl that for her own safety she had better make sure she always woke up first. It had worked. Eleven never had any problems with Hilde. The girl seemed to understand her predicament.

Eleven had lied though when she said she didn't care for Une's taste. She discovered it was a deeper lie than she expected it to be when after a long night one of her lower subordinates made an off handed insult towards the girl. Hilde never reacted to remarks about her person. Eleven decided to react for her, and gave no real explanation for the sudden violent swing she made towards the man except that he should mind his manners.

Others were less lucky.

She stepped out of the shower and dried off. She could hear Hilde rushing around getting things ready. Time was growing short and they had an appointment to keep. Eleven stepped out in her towel and waited for Hilde to notice her.

Hilde stopped in the middle of laying out Eleven's clothes and looked over. She shut her eyes and said, "I'm sorry I over slept. We have plenty of time…" She paused as Eleven approached her, the towel slipping to the ground.

"No." Eleven said softly. "Tonight we're going to be late."

"But-"

Hilde was silenced by Eleven's lips, a deep kiss. One she had not experienced since making her final decision regarding what side she was going to serve.

Eleven pulled back to say, "I need to know for sure why it is she wants so desperately to keep you." She kissed Hilde again and bit at her lower lip. "So make me understand it."

******

She walked into the abandoned factory alone. Her heels clicking neatly across the damp cement floor. There was a chair in the middle of the floor with a man tied to it. Surrounding him were other members of the OZ. She walked under the light and grinned.

"You're late." One of the members said. "Was there a problem?"

"No." She glanced around and then locked eyes with one for the men in particular. "You generally distance yourself from this sort of thing, Thirteen."

He grinned slyly and shrugged. "Sometimes I miss watching you work." He looked around. "Where is Miss Schbeiker?"

"I'm afraid my lovely Hilde has been working much too hard these past few weeks." She removed her long navy blue gloves and handed them to another man. "I gave her the night off."

"Interesting." Thirteen said with a chuckle. "How are you going to handle this one, Lady?"

Eleven strolled over to a long table. There were various sharp instruments laid out along it. She picked up one that she fancied and stepped over to the man in the chair who was gagged and was now trying desperately to get out of his extremely tight bonds.

"I'm going to be gentle," she said with a grin and brought the scalpel in her hand up under the man's right eye.

Thirteen grinned. It was going to be so nice to have his Lady back to her old self, and she was definitely getting there.


	5. Strength in Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wufei is the only good cop left in the city. As the darkness threatens to change from order to chaos, Wufei finds help where he least expects it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Wufei bit into the sandwich wishing that he'd remembered to stop at the store for cheese or mustard or mayonnaise or anything that might take away the drab cardboard taste sitting in his mouth for the past seventy-two hours. The phones had been ringing nonstop all morning. Sally, at the desk opposite his, was still taking notes from a caller. He watched her wet her lips, her face calm even as her pen frantically scratched notes along the paper.

She had seemed surprised as anyone in the police department when the calls started pouring into the center in such quantity that they couldn't be ignored.

Wufei should be on his phone, but he'd casually left the receiver unhooked from the last conversation in order to take a break from the operating system that sent the next civilian call to the open lines. Every call was the same anyway. Someone had been very busy the night before. The number Four had been carved into every door on the south side and a few bodies on the west along the water.

Sally glanced at him, frowning when she saw the sandwich. In response, Wufei raised his eyebrows daring her to say something. To say anything. He knew. She knew he knew. He knew she knew that he knew. Sally wasn't a good cop.

Well, he swallowed heavily, Sally was good at being a cop, but that wasn't all that she was.

Someone had the manpower to make all those numbers appear. Witnesses who actually saw the vandalism cited seeing just about every gender, race and physical characteristic to describe the culprits. But Wufei saw some pattern in the madness of the reports. Racial profiling aside, he knew the work of the Maganac Corp.

He looked at his fingers, empty now except for some dry crumbs. He swatted those with his opposite hand and, standing, lifted his jacket from the back of his chair.

That got Sally's full attention. She covered the mouth piece and pulled the receiver away from her ear far enough that Wufei could hear the man shouting his outrage, he had kids and just what were the police going to do about this.

_Where are you going?_ She mouthed.

He quietly snorted, half tempted to the childish, playground retort _That's for me to know and you to find out._ He hoped his expression conveyed the same sentiment.

His phone made a trilling noise. Someone had noticed he'd left it disconnected. Wufei put it back on it's base where it immediately started ringing.

He walked away.

 

***

 

Outside, the sun still shot brilliant heat everywhere it could touch. Wufei dropped his shades toward his nose and started to walk toward the open lot where he could grab a car to take to the South. He still cared what happened to the city, even if he had to work alone. He could figure out how to do it by himself. He'd done something similar before. Started again without his partner, without his wife.

He hated solitude, really. All he could figure was that the universe liked to put people in their worst case circumstances and watch if the inconvenience made them stronger.

Or maybe the cosmos only did that to those who chose a higher moral path. It seemed that the mob had quantity and hoodlums a plenty. Partners in crime.

Wufei preferred being righteous.

He'd slung the jacket over his shoulder. When he got to the driver's side of the car, he spun the coat around already noticing the heaviness in one of the pockets. Keys. A breeze snapped by with enough strength to ripple his shirt along his back. Wufei tipped his head forward, enjoying the brief coolness. His hand partway to unlocking the door.

"Get in," a dry voice commented.

Wufei recognized the hard press of a gun muzzle that casually slid up his spine, disappearing but still out. He started to lift his arms in the sign for surrender, then spun with a whip quick snap of his jacket. The assailant leaped back. The heel of Wufei's hand pushed out just short of smashing into the other man's face.

_He's fast_, Wufei thought while kicking. _Broad daylight, in front of the police station, and he chooses now to grab me._

The other man's arms lifted to block the strike. They both pulled back to evaluate the other. Wufei positioned himself for another move, relaxing his breath for effectiveness and his eyes taking in what he could of his opponent.

Young, possibly twenty-two. Dark hair, Asian but something else too from the dark blueness of his eyes. Trained, experienced. His posture a stance perfectly ready for Wufei's trained response.

"You knew that wasn't going to work," Wufei determined.

"Chang Wufei." The other man might have sounded pleased. His furrowed brow softened until it no longer held the deep lines of concentration. "The only officer completely on the right side of the law."

"Not the only officer," Wufei observed.

"_Completely_," the man repeated with assured insistance. "I'm Heero Yuy. Criminal. Arson and assault. Bribery, burglary, embezzlement, extortion, forgery. Identity theft, insurance fraud, kidnapping, theft. Manslaughter. Murder."

"That's quite a list." Wufei kept his tone indifferent, but curiosity surged inside like a seed of hope had taken deep roots. Heero Yuy's face did not move, except for where his lips and jaw formed words, still Wufei could almost taste the presence of remorse like sweet water.

"You'll learn that I don't suffer fools. You aren't a fool. So let's get into the car and do what we're going to do." Heero still had the gun, but obviously had no intentions of shooting anyone just then.

"I'm not a fool. And you're not a common criminal," Wufei didn't exactly ask, but he wanted to know.

"I'm One," Heero said, after a short thought when his eyes seemed to be looking inward instead of out. "One of the Numbers."

 

***

 

Five years earlier, Wufei was sitting in the interview hall taking a statement from the wife of one of the 5/7 Bank loan officers. Had she noticed anything different that morning? Had her husband tried contacting her during the robbery? His hand took notes; however, his eyes drifted to the rain hitting the window. He had a new kitten at home. She'd promised him that a kitten wouldn't tear up the apartment, but Wufei wasn't fond of the creature and suspected that Shenlong secretly hated him as well.

The woman saw him looking and turned her eyes toward the window as well. He studied her then. Of course, he'd noticed that she arrived in disarray, but her husband had just died. He hadn't given it another thought except now he saw that the back of her hair was fiercely tangled as if she'd not only forgotten to brush it but that she'd come straight from bed. Undisguised grey accented the curving twists and snaggled knots.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, twice, before she acknowledged his presence again. Her jaw tightened.

"I'm not sorry." She shook her head. "Stefan, he was a hard man. My family was hard too. Very Russian, proud, strong. Because of that, I never thought to look underneath. He had everyone fooled. I was fooled."

She turned to look at Wufei. Leaning over the small desk between them, she set her finger on the page sketched over with inked notes. "Put this down. When my nephew had a chance, he ran away. Then Stefan started hurting the neighborhood animals he could trap. Next was Danny, our son."

"Why didn't you report him?"

She sat back and shook her head, eyelids lowered. "A nightmare like that man had friends. Had connections. Not all cops are... like you." She unbuttoned her blouse pulling the material away to show a design of scars that might have been art if they weren't displayed on flesh. Some were freshly healing. "He only agreed to stop..."

"If?" Wufei supplied, hating the way his voice sounded calm.

"If I let him hurt me instead." She smiled brightly. "But the Numbers are short one today."

 

***

 

"What number was Stefan Mihailov?" Wufei asked, turning the car into the street at Heero's indication. The man casually sat in the front seat with relaxed legs as if he were on a routine trip with a good friend. The atmosphere of trust loosed the tension in Wufei's muscles against his better judgment.

"Mihailov?" Heero glanced at Wufei with what might have been an amused expression. "Of all the Numbers in all of history you pick Thirty-Eight?"

"I met his wife," Wufei answered. "She was the first time I heard of the Numbers."

"The Numbers. You're aware of the power shift from the Alliance, correct?" Heero probed, testing the cop's knowledge.

Wufei let the car idle at the intersection and nervously scanned the sidewalks. Any surveillance camera with an angle on the street would see the detective with Heero Yuy. And the gun, which rested visible in Heero's hand.

"Alliance, that was Noventa's organization," Wufei recalled.

"Was, but it's still active. Just a little power vacuum, so Four decided she would sketch her number in the sand so to speak. Expand the borders of her territory."Heero shrugged. "Keep going straight until you get to North Ave then take a right."

"Where are we going?" Wufei asked, at last.

"To give Dorothy Catalonia a visit."

"Ah," Wufei almost laughed. "Should I know who that is?"

"Don't worry about her so much, it's Quatre that you have to keep your eye on."

Wufei grunted as if he knew what that meant. "Thanks for the gun by the way."

Heero did laugh at that. "You'll survive with your reputation in tact, but only if you can come up with some good answers for their questions."

 

***

When the phone rang, Wufei startled and immediately reached for his jacket in the backseat. When he heard Heero answer the call, Wufei stopped and tilted his head in amusement.

"Bad guys take phone calls," he mused. Traffic on North Ave was stalled and the heat blistered in the dark interior of the vehicle. He leaned his elbow against the door and propped up his head, listening.

"Probably not a good idea," Heero said quietly. Not as if he meant for the words to go unheard, but as if that was the volume he chose to use with his caller. Unlike other phones,Heero had the settings so low that Wufei couldn't make out the conversation on the other end. He thought of Sally and wondered if she'd stayed put after he left the station. Or if she'd abandoned her post to do whatever double agents do when they're not virtually handcuffed to their straight-and-narrow partner.

The conversation continued to be generic and droll, until the end.

"I love you, too." Heero ended the call.

Wufei shifted so that he still leaned against his hand, but watched Heero's face. The self-professed criminal, arsonist, burglar, embezzler, and murderer calmly watched the sea of cars piled into lanes before them.

 

***

 

"Pull in here," Heero waved his hand at the curb. Wufei eased the car into the open spot on the street. He stepped out into the sun and for the briefest of moments thought he was on a case and that the man with him was an actual associate, not a mobster with a gun.

Indulging the idea for a second longer, Wufei asked, "So what's the end game here?"

"I'm delivering Four a message and I wanted a witness to hear it." Heero glanced down the sidewalk, both directions, before climbing the stairs to the three story brick building. The establishment was designed to hold businesses of some sort, most of the city block was tattoo artists and manicurists, but no sign displayed what transactions occurred inside these walls.Heero pressed the buzzer.

"A witness," Wufei grumbled. "Get yourself a reporter."

"You'll understand soon enough." Heero reached out for the doorknob when they heard the opening click. "Looks like I was expected."

"And me?"

"No one expects a good cop," Heero laughed at his own joke.

The floors were brown tile with marble patterns. Heero led them up a matching staircase to the third floor which had better light fixtures and a set of wide opaque-glass double doors just across a short foyer. A man stood to one side of the doors.Maganac Corp symbols on his knee length jacket and red cap.

"She said to let you in." The man pushed the door inward a few inches revealing that just beyond someone was playing a stringed instrument.

"I can find my own way," Heero acknowledged, going first. Wufei watched the Maganac officer and the Maganac office watched Wufei back.

Inside, the music pleasantly drifted in a clean, polished room. The furniture was white and the decorations, porcelain with pale blue and yellow. The place may have been enchanted as it seemed to be lit by the sun, except there were no windows. And the aromas that graced Wufei's breath were fresh without the smell of the traffic just outside.

Heero walked straight ahead through the open room to a narrow hall and turned right into a room that had a royal blue carpet. Wufei's shoes sank into the plush, expensive flooring.

"Heero Yuy." A woman's voice lilted in a delighted fashion. The music stopped, gently and with no abruptness so that Wufei almost doubted that he'd heard it end.

"I've heard that you've been busy, Dorothy," Heero stated.

Wufei saw the woman sitting, not behind the luxurious desk opposite the door, but in a chair just around the corner. Next to her stood a young man with a violin. They both had pale complexions and flaxen hair. What had Heero said? To beware of the boy?

Wufei considered the person he gathered to be Quatre. Not tall, and slim, he had a sunny smile and his eyes danced as if still amused by a music no one else could hear. A chill ran across Wufei's skin and he crossed his arms.

"Things were becoming rather dull. Sometimes, it's necessary to set things into motion." Dorothy stood and offered a drink to Heero, before pouring her own. Heero declined.

"I won't argue with that," Heero seemed to relax, comfortable even in Dorothy's headquarters. Wufei continued to glance at the still unmoving form of the blond man. Unlike Heero, Wufei became more and more tense under that gaze.

Heero clicked his tongue, then continued, "Actually, after this demonstration of how well your Corp can deliver a message across town, I was hoping you could do the same for me."

"Is that so?" Dorothy set her drink on the table, clasping her hands. "What is it? I would be glad to oblige you."

Heero smiled, one that seemed just as unpleasant as Quatre's if not more so. "Before I've even told you what it is? Dorothy, how you keep your number is beyond logic." He pointedly turned to Quatre. "How are you?"

"Quite happy." Quatre beamed his smile around the room. If it had physical impact, that look would have destroyed anyone who suffered it.

"I'm surprised you don't take a number for yourself. Everyone knows the Corp only listens to you," Heero challenged. For a moment, Quatre seemed puzzled, his smile slipped.

Dorothy shot a dark glance at Heero, "Stop it."

"Eventually, this match is going to burn your fingers," Heero promised. "But that's more of a favor than you deserve. What I want you to do is this, tell everyone. Numbers, Alliance, White Fang, or any other green up shoots that think they want in on the action this," he paused. "One is retired. I'm taking my number with me, there will be no replacements or I will see to it that they are killed."

Wufei glanced at Heero as a darkness settled over the young man, changing him into someone Wufei could believe had earned the designation of One.

"And I'm taking Sylvia Noventa under my protection." His tone changed, "Really, if you could all pretend that I'm dead or never existed, that would be best all around. Don't challenge me on this."

"Otherwise?" Dorothy arched her brow, unaffected and coy.

"Otherwise?" Heero chuckled, "Annoy me _at all_, then, with pleasure, this man and I will bring down your entire house of Numbers."


	6. Thirteen and Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirteen seeks to reward Hilde for all her work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Treize Kushrenada tried not to laugh when the young woman stood nervously before him. She felt safer at her lady's side, and that was as it should be. He felt that he owed her a small debt, and it was, after all, her day off. It was a new privilege for the young woman, but when Eleven explained it to him it made sense. Hilde deserved a day off. The girl worked tireless for hours on end seeing to the needs of her mistress. He grinned, mistresses.

"Miss Schbeiker, how lovely to see you." He said, still grinning. "Do sit down."

She took a deep breath and sat in the plush antique chair opposite his desk. There were roses in large vases dotted about the room, but still there was nothing but refined elegance there. And as he looked at the young woman he saw in her traces of the Lady. This young woman was rising up from nothing and becoming a lady herself. It was so thrilling to watch. Elegance could reach anyone from any station in life all one had to do was work for it.

"I am sorry to trouble you on your day of rest, but I wanted to offer you a little reward."

She blushed a little. "thank you, sir, but…I really don't require any-"

"Tut tut." He said and stood up. "You're doing very well. At the rate things are going the Lady will be restored in no time at all, and it's thanks to you."

"I-"

He put a finger to his lips, and glanced down at the photos on his desk. There were two pictures of one woman, but they were not the same woman. He stood and moved around to lean on his desk.

"It's not really you. It's her as well. I think the pieces finally want to come back together." He paused and looked over the young woman. He admired the simple and beautiful violet suit she was wearing, and of course the matching hat, the polished flats. "You have managed to lead her by example though." His grin widened, showed teeth. "I think living as a double in her presence has shown her exactly how it can really be done."

Miss Schbieker moved slightly, uncomfortable in what was a very comfortable chair. She found herself swallowing hard. "Sir, I've put that-"

"I'm aware of your loyalty, Hilde." There was something unsettling about being called by her first name by anyone other than the Lady. "You've taken an oath. If you break it I know she'll take care of you."

Hilde nodded.

He smiled and walked back behind his desk.

"You're reward." He said and reached into his desk. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.

She took it with caution and opened it. There were tickets inside to the ballet.

"I would tell you to bring whom ever you like, but I have a feeling I know who you will be asking." He winked at her and then added, "She likes this one."

"Right."

"Hilde."

She looked up at him.

"Once upon a time a young street rat walked into the folds of my organization. I was very young then. I'd just received my number. She had everything I wanted in a subordinate. She was my lady, but…I erred." He knocked on his desk with his fist. "I don't err often but I am man enough to admit when I have made a mistake. I broke her. When she's fixed, she'll still want you, but you should never forget-"

"Don't say it." Hilde said. "I know how it works."

"Very good." He sat back down and then looked over at her. "You may leave."

Hilde stood up and then turned back to face Treize, Thirteen. "She'll never give me up though."

He chuckled and waved her away, watching her leave. When the door to his office shut he leaned back into his chair and shut his eyes. Hilde didn't quite understand his intent, but it was fine for her to think whatever she wished as long as his plans went through. He opened his eyes when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in." He stated. The door opened and he grinned as he looked over at the man standing there. "Ah, Milliardo how very nice to see you. How is your sister?"

"Don't call me that." Milliardo stated.

Treize grinned. "Of course, Six. Do sit down."


	7. Adding Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trieze attends the ballet, confronts some problems, and makes further plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Treize Khushrenada was a charming charismatic businessman who gave generously to multiple charities, supported a number of social causes, and to top it all off had been a war hero. He was the kind of man that everyone wanted to run for political office, but never did. He was Caesar always refusing the emperor's crown, except that he was much smatter, cunning, and far more ambitious. His Brutus and Marc Antony were technically the same person and much much more loyal.

He was the pinnacle of society, but he was also the lord and master of the underworld. Most of it at any rate, the rest of it he was working on gathering up to him a piece at a time. He was in charge of the OZ, and the OZ was dipped into more underground and government agencies than could be counted. He was one of the Numbers, and the only one of that elite group to choose his own. No one wanted to be Thirteen, but he took it graciously, willingly, and with open arms.

Things were going well so far. His plans to topple the Alliance were steadily taking root, and with Noventa gone it would be easier than ever. All he had to worry about really was the Peacecraft claim, but it was shaky, and Peacecraft himself was more concerned with political power. His only snag had come from Four and her irresponsible rush and grab for what was not hers to take. That was being taken care of though. He had sent someone to politely remind her of her place in the grand scheme of things.

Currently he was seated in his box at the ballet. He watched the crowds of the social elite wander to their seats. Everyone seemed to be attending that night. There was even that scourge from the White Fang group trying to look dapper in his orchestra seats. Holding his opera glasses up he looked out into the balconies. Peacecraft's daughter was in attendance with her socialite entourage, and in perfect view from his own box directly across the stage Lady Une and Hilde Schbeiker.

He was amused by the sight of them together, but more thrilled at the parts they played so well. They were both ladies. Anyone blind enough to still see either as the underprivileged young women they had been was truly a fool. And here, the Lady was dressed in a flowing navy blue gown, and Hilde a wonder in a form fitting black dress. He wondered at the growing length of Hilde's hair, but doubted it was anything but her own choice to let it grow out.

The lights in the theater flickered and the murmur of the crowd died away as the lights dimmed and the orchestra began the overture.

Trieze caught the glimmer from off the Lady's glasses as the performance began and delighted at the continued progress there. He wondered if she knew he was watching, but it was almost certain that she did. Eleven, his lady, never missed a thing. She probably even knew that Three had found away to keep his new pet and that he was aided in part by Five. How gracious she was to let it all slide, but then that was part of her overall charm. It would eventually come back to haunt the other two numbers. There was no way it couldn't.

Midway through the first act there was a knock on his box door. One of his men entered and whispered into his ear. He raised an eyebrow and stood up, exiting quietly. Out in the light of the hall he straightened the jacket of his tuxedo and then asked his man, "Where is she?"

"This way, sir." The man said.

Treize followed quickly down through the backstage area of the theater and into a maintenance room where a few of his men stood. Amid them Four stood in a yellow dress, but with a deeply bruised left eye. She sneered at him and then spit on the ground. Dorothy had always been part wild animal, part elegantly cruel goddess. She was unamused and Treize found himself unable to keep from grinning.

"I do hope you didn't get that from Three." Treize said softly. "He can generally get the point across to you with mere conversation."

Dorothy gritted her teeth and shook her head. "I'd like to apologize, cousin, for over stepping my bounds."

"Well, you are forgiven my dearest Dotty. I've told you before you only need but ask and I will provide, can't have chaos reigning out there, even if the Alliance is weak. I promise you'll get the chance to shine and take what you like very soon, but not…now." He stepped over to her and brushed back a strand of hair from her face.

She stared him down like a wounded dog, then she smiled, showing her teeth. "Did you get the message I was asked to deliver?"

"Yes."

"And?"

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged casually. "For the time being, we are going to respect his wishes. I have informed the other Numbers to leave One alone." And this was true, except that he had also told Six he should make time to settle things with his old playmate, One. He wasn't going to tell Four about that though. She'd want to do something vicious. She still might even after the warning, but he had plans for that occurrence.

"And the Noventas?"

"There isn't anything left of their legacy to go after. If One feels the need to protect little Sylvia then that is his prerogative." Treize paused and then added, "Peacecraft's daughter will of course be a nuisance to him, but I don't think he can really blame us for that. Do you?"

Dorothy huffed. "He might."

"Then you should find a way to occupy the little princess's time. I'm sure you can think of…something clever." He watched the way his young cousin glowed at the very thought. Still troubled by the black eye he questioned further, "Now about that eye?"

"I may," Dorothy began, touching upon the wound as she continued, "have stepped into the ring with Une without forethought."

He chuckled. "I see." He turned to leave. "Enjoy the performance if you are staying, and Dorothy?"

She looked over at him, perfectly hating him.

"You're a terrible liar when you're angry. The truth is better in cases of wound pride."

"Miss Schbeiker has a mean right hook."

"Finally standing up for herself is she?"

Four let out an irritated sigh. "No, not really."

Treize turned to face his cousin. "Oh Dotty, it is bad form to besmirch one of your equals. If you take revenge on the young lady for this I'll have to be…unkind to you."

"I've learned the lesson."

"Good." He turned again and left for his box.

An interesting duo the Lady and her girl were becoming. As he took his seat again he used his opera glasses to look over at the two. Hilde was attempting to watch the end of the first act as the Lady whispered into her ear.

He would have to give the girl a number. She wouldn't want it, and she'd hate knowing that despite her refusal of it people would call her by it anyway. He glanced back at the performance. All the players were in line for the end of the first act, and the stage was nearly set for the next act to play out.

_Yes,_ he thought to himself. _I shall give her a number. It'll be very much like having One back in the game. He never wanted his number either. Of course he isn't exactly off the stage yet. It isn't really time for him to exit._

The curtain came down and the lights in the theater rose.

Treize remained in his seat and watched as the audience below him filtered out to stretch their legs and take a break.

"Enjoy it while you can."


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilde gets her number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Hilde was on her side, face practically buried in her pillow, with Une holding her from behind on the bed in the Barge quarters that felt much too big. They had been staying at the hotels so frequently she was used to the smaller space. Now she felt lost in the middle of a cushioned wasteland except for knowing that the Lady liked to keep close to her.

She wanted to sleep. She couldn't sleep. She muttered into her pillow, "I don't want to be a number."

The sound caused a stirring next to her. Une smiled into the back of her neck, manicured nails tracing the soft silk of Hilde's nightgown at the flat of the young woman's stomach. She whispered, "It's not about wanting the number, lovely. You can decide to never officially take on the title if you like. Others have done so, but once the number is given and others refer to you by it, the deal is done."

Hilde sighed.

Une kissed the back of her neck and added, "I talked him out of calling you Two."

She shivered and the Lady held her tighter.

"You'll be surprised when you get it." Une said softly, moving her hand up from Hilde's stomach and lifting her head to kiss the young woman's neck. "Do you like the new perfume?"

Hilde shut her eyes for a moment and then turned around to face Une. She wasn't going to get any sleep. Eleven and the Lady seemed to have an infinite supply of energy for her, but that was fine. She never knew she could function on so little sleep and endless kisses. Endless and different, it was like dating two different people, except for the days when it clearly was not. Treize was right the Lady was coming back together.

She kissed Une instead of answering the question. She was never sure why Une and Eleven asked her such trivial things. They always knew exactly what she liked. They always picked out just the right things for her. She liked the jasmine scent that the Lady had found for her. She used it in spare amounts so as not to clash with Une's perfume that was sometimes indescribable, part rose, part sandalwood, and sweat and blood. There was no mistaking it.

Lady Une was very together that night. Hilde could tell with the kisses, the touch, and the willingness to allow for an exchange of control.

She had never wanted to love the Lady. She had never meant any of the physical exchanges to be anything more than just sex. She was certain she could let things remain that way. She half wondered if love always led to darkness, if there was only loss in falling. It had been that way with her before. She remembered being madly in love with a young man named Walker when she was a teenager. He was a good kid, or she had thought he was until he turned up mangled in a ditch and all his secrets were out in the open.

Now there was this lady, this elegant and beautiful lady who in an instant could tear her limb from limb. She wasn't really sure when she had fallen. She wasn't sure she wanted to recall the exact moment.

Hilde held Une beneath her, not claiming, no one could really claim the lady, but attempting to trace herself into the woman's being. She wanted to remain important to Une. It seemed at times an impossible task, and then the woman turn the tides and looked into Hilde's eyes before smiling at some unknown secret and taking her lips, drowning her deep with desire.

Lady Une rested her head on Hilde's chest listening closely to the rapid but slowly calming heart beat. Her hands trailed soft lines across the young woman's skin.

"We should get a smaller bed," Une said softly. "There's far too much wasted space in this one." She pushed herself up and saw Hilde's eyes were shut. She grinned. "No sleep for you tonight, lovely. I want to remember all there is of you before everyone calls you Eight."


	9. Next Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nichol's working the job he's been given, but it's not exactly satisfying Trowa's biological clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

"You're taking good care of this one, right?"

The slender man didn't answer the question. He did, however, shift his eyes to look at the woman who had asked. Sally leaned against the tree planted in a square of dirt in a stretch of concrete. A narrow, tall trunk with branches far over their heads.

"Is it really necessary?" His hand twitched wanting to hold something. He let the limb quiver for a full minute before grasping his wrist and rubbing it into submission. "Every time, Sally. You want to know _every time_ if I'm good enough. You would think that my successful work demonstrates how good I am." His hands moved apart again. What had he been doing?

The sunshine of a seemingly endless summer sank skin deep warm. He certainly wasn't cold. He caught his reflection in the dark glass of the storefront. Sally had wanted to meet him around the corner from the West Campus Conservatory which put them just outside a candy store. A flock of teenagers, girls in striped thigh high socks, exited with already melting ice cream cones. He momentarily had a glimpse into his own childhood, a girl with auburn hair and neatly folded, white ankle socks. The ice cream had come on a truck piping off-key music. She had asked him what he wanted.

Then he recognized the far off music for an alarm system, a constant wailing with changes in frequency every seven seconds. Trowa tilted his head to look around himself. "Interesting," he commented.

"Yeah, interesting with a three minute response time if Wufei's on shift." Sally pushed from the tree and started to walk down the sidewalk. She was passed by a dark, quickly moving figure with pumping arms.

Nichol ran three steps beyond Trowa before turning back to flash a grin and say, "Are you coming?"

"You've got it?"

"Of course," Nichol's smile changed to a perplexed slack jaw and he rolled his eyes. "Really, you know that you can trust me on something as simple as a robbery."

"Trust, yes," Trowa murmured. He stalked the distance between them, leaning in to sniff along Nichol's neck. "Sloppy work, nonetheless." He found that he'd taken Nichol's hand into his own.

That was it.

***

Nichol had stolen pages from Otto's symphony. But it wasn't the ordinary sort of song, or so Trowa had chattered. Frankly, Nichol had figured that it was more than simple sheet music when he'd had to crack open a Haystak safe hidden inside the original vault. However, Trowa ignored that accomplishment or he refused to acknowledge it or, Nichol resigned himself, Trowa simply didn't realize that a Haystak model was _hard_.

The safecracker leaned over the drafting desk to see his contraband, large pages of scrawled musical notes spread haphazardly with their corners dangling over the table's edges like limp flower petals. "I don't see it," he admitted.

"Music is language too." Trowa danced around with one of his shirts filling in as his partner, sleeves stretched like arms. He'd taken twenty minutes before ultimately deciding which article of clothing with which he wanted to waltz. The rejected rest ended up on the floor. Trowa's feet tangled up in a pile of his own button down shirts which he kicked at with mounting frustration.

Not knowing which would irritate Trowa more, Nichol moved to clean up the mess only to be interrupted by Trowa gleefully snatching at Nichol instead spinning them around.

"There you are," Trowa exclaimed with an edge of relief.

When Trowa was angry, Nichol might have a bad day. More worrisome, however, were the days when the slender man seemed lost, dependent. Those days were more frequently outnumbering the occasions of Trowa's temper.

"Barton," Nichol said when Trowa absently kissed the hand he was holding near his face.

"No, say my name."

"Trowa," Nichol relented, although he waited a generous length of time before trying to escape the resulting tangle of rubbing limbs Trowa considered a hug. He continued, "The orchestra..."

Trowa groaned, then pushed away with enough force Nichol stumbled while watching Trowa scowl over the stolen item.

"Idiots." Trowa crossed his arms. His eyes rapidly scanning the pages. He reached down exactly one time to lift the corner of a page to see what was written underneath. "I can do the calculations without a key and Otto made a mistake here." Trowa waved his hand over a leaf of paper. "The piccolo section. Not to mention the botched job with the tenor tuba's tempo." He let his shoulders drop. "Although, the dynamics during the second cadence are slightly inspired."

"Is it music or a code?" Nichol asked, standing next to the younger man and trying to see what Trowa did.

"Both," Trowa smiled, cheerfully. "Otto's been hard at work trying to earn his number, but _no one_ worth their number would appreciate something so elementary." Trowa flicked his finger at one of the pages.

Nichol wrinkled his face. He really hated working pointless jobs, although, he felt he shouldn't complain as he seldom got outside of Trowa's apartment. The 'walks,' as Trowa liked to call them, were happening more frequently as they settled into a routine. A sort of agreement. He asked, "So why did we steal it?"

"Probably to gain the attention of the police."

"Isn't that bad for us?" Nichol's face didn't relax. Trowa reached out to hold Nichol's jaw using thumbs to smooth over his cheeks. Trowa's expression transformed to study Nichol with the same thoughtful, attentive fixation he'd given the musical score.

"Let's have kids together," Trowa stated.

Nichol didn't know what to say. Just when he thought he had Trowa figured out, the man said something so absolutely impossible to decipher. Was that a joke? Or another layer of impervious insanity?

Then Trowa skipped to the middle of the room and started to pick up the clothing he'd spilled earlier. "Of course, the police will look for us. But far worse for Otto that detectives start at the scene of the crime." Trowa tossed a grey striped shirt into Nichol's chest. "Put that on."

Nichol obeyed. He'd been asked to do far worse in the past.

Thoughtful, Trowa looked at Nichol. "So many things we leave out in the open, unprotected, in our homes."

The buttons were no sooner fixed into place on Nichol's new shirt when Trowa pulled them apart with an enthusiastic tugging. Nichol saw one hit a light fixture with a ping on the glass. The rest he'd have to search out as his attention was demanded elsewhere.

Of course, he'd be asked to clean up afterward.

***

"If it's a girl, let's name her Kitty."

Trowa idly pulled at the hair on Nichol's chest. They hadn't even made the couch, the pile of clothes almost working as a pillow.

"Damn it, Barton, you do know that's..." Nichol couldn't talk with a tongue in his mouth. Much later he concluded, "Kitty is a stupid name."


	10. Numbered Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilde finds herself defending her number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Hilde Schbeiker stood in the hall amid the casual coming and going of hotel patrons. She was waiting to be called into the conference room that had been rented out, and Otto who was standing just a little further down was watching her expectantly. She was wearing a pinstriped pant suit with a black fedora, white spats on her shoes. He'd seen countless women in the OZ try to pull off that look, but it always looked like a costume. Hilde looked comfortable, and it was, he noted, because her suits were fitted and tailored.

Street rats making good, good little pets being given treasures they weren't due, and he had worked tirelessly for years and had nothing but the respect of his boss. It wasn't enough. He wanted a number. He looked down at the marble floor and then back at the young woman. She was getting everything he felt was his due. Every thing. Every single thing.

What did he have to show for all his hard work and time?

Someone had broken into his place and stolen his musical, and of course it wasn't just a musical. It was a great error, and the police were still crawling all over the place. It was unfair and now he was going to be reprimanded.

A young man passed Hilde and nodded at her. "Eight." He said and Otto felt his blood boil.

He balled up his hands into tight fists and stalked over to the young woman. She needed to earn that number. His number. Eight should have been his number.

*****

Hilde saw him coming. He wasn't charging at her, but she could feel his intent as he moved from across the hall. She looked around at all the civilians in the hotel, spotted the security guard, and sighed. This was why she didn't want a number. This was why she preferred just being the Lady's secretary. She was really good at that. She kept the schedule moving, had all the right information gathered and was useful. She couldn't be useful if she ended up in traction because one too many of the OZ thought she was an undeserving street rat.

She wondered if Lady Une had had to deal with this nonsense when she joined.

The man approaching was one of the Marquis's men. She was certain his name was Otto but could have been wrong. He was much bigger than she was.

_And this,_ Hilde thought, _is why Une has been making me take lessons in pugilism and American boxing._

She had had some training in the police academy. That training served as a mild stepping stone to the kind of skills she would actually need to hone in order to survive in the OZ as a number.

"Miss Schbeiker," the man said.

Hilde smiled at him.

"Eight." He added bitterly.

She nodded.

"Why Eight?" He asked.

"I don't know. That's just what was chosen."

He seemed offended by the notion, and it occurred to her that there were obviously people in the organization who didn't understand that the number it self was trivial. The designation came at random and only bore meaning when the person holding the number made it mean something other than what it was.

"My name," he began, "is Otto." He glared down at her and then swiped at her so that her hat fell to the floor. He grinned and stepped on it, crushing it.

She grimaced. "That was my best hat," she sighed and then had to duck out of the way of Otto's first real swing. The second swing connected and she fell back against the floor recalling her first time in the boxing ring.

Lady Une was having her trained by Rashid of the Maganac Corp. He was a big man and he didn't take it easy on her just because she was a girl. The young blonde that was always shadowing Four wouldn't let the bigger man cheat like that. And the blond boy beamed happily when she had staggered out of the ring that first day and said, "It's a useful skill to learn. You did very well."

Memory faded and her instinct to live pushed her to her feet in an instant. Otto was a big man. Rashid had been bigger. She was faster. He was stronger. She was smarter, and that was obvious, or this man wouldn't have dared attack her in a public space. There was also the new fact that she was his superior, but it wasn't something she considered important. The number was meaningless to her. She was just a secretary.

Hilde got in a few good hits. They weren't enough to take him down.

She definitely needed to spend more time at the gym. In fact she was positive she was going to respectfully ask Rashid to step up her training regiment.

"You don't deserve your number." Otto mocked and kicked at her while she was down.

Hilde laughed as she staggered to her feet and spit blood onto the floor. "I don't even want it."

It wasn't the right thing to say.

Otto swung again and knocked her back against the door to the conference room.

_Oh,_ Hilde thought, _that's a bad move. The Numbers will let this mess play out, but it's a really bad move._

She dodged the next on coming blow and landed an upper cut to his jaw. It was enough to make him stagger back. Patrons in the hotel were watching with concern and Hilde was pretty sure someone wondered why the police hadn't been called in. That was the last thing she needed.

The door to the conference room opened. Hilde was too busy being lifted up and shoved against a wall to notice who had come out to watch.

******

Lady Une was very calm as the doors opened and she watched her lovely Hilde man handled by Six's bulky underling. She moved quickly out into the hall and then looked over at Six who was also watching the fight with cold steady calm.

"Rein him in." Une commanded.

Six didn't even flinch.

She let out a breath. "Do it now or I'll make sure he gets the full punishment for the robbery."

Six looked the Lady over and nodded. "Eight needs to learn how to stand on her own."

Eleven moved to fully to the surface, taking firm control, and then Lady grinned. "Those are interesting words coming from a young man whose privilege saw him safely out of harm until he got back from serving in the war. I seem to recall keeping you from something like this early on."

"Only at Thirteen's request. You are not my superior." He stated coldly.

By this time Five had wandered over. She looked over at Six and arched an eyebrow. "Rein him in, Six", Five stated coolly. "The police will be called in shortly."

Six huffed in irritation and stepped over. Just as he did Hilde managed to get in a knee to Otto's groin. He toppled over and she kicked him with her pointed wingtips. Six bent down to the man and whispered into his ear.

Une and Five walked over to Hilde who was swaying slightly. A hand was pushed into her face and she could hear Five ask, "How many fingers do you see?"

She blinked. "Eight," she muttered and then collapsed.

*****

"She did very well," Three beamed, grinning.

The others in the dark room muttered in agreement.

"I knew she would." Three said again. "She's a smart girl." His brow furrowed and then he looked over across the table at the Lady. "Five says she'll be fine."

Une arched an eyebrow and then looked over at Thirteen. She waited for his verdict.

He grinned. "Six, next time… if there even is a next time, please work with your fellows. We are numbers for a reason. Even she is a number for a reason. We will benefit from her strengths."

Six nodded slightly.

Treize looked around the room. "So it's all settled then. Eleven will increase her training with Four's assistance. Eight won't disappoint."

The Numbers left the small meeting room. Eleven stayed behind and Thirteen approached with a smile.

"If I thought-" she started to say.

"It's the way the game works." He said. "You know that."

"I stopped playing games a long time ago," she stated coolly. "You can move us about as you like, but you know he'll betray you eventually. He wants One. He needs to finish what he started, and that game that want, will be trouble for the rest of us."

Treize looked Lady Une over. "I know all that. So, lady, knowing all this, what do we do?"

"I've no doubt you have plans. I have plans of my own. For now, I will wait until you ask me to do otherwise." She paused and added, "I know Otto is out of my hands for obvious reasons, but whoever you send to educate him please see if he will do me a little favor."

"And what is that?"

The Lady grinned and whispered into Treize's ear. The man grinned and nodded.

"Lady, you are sublime."


	11. Numbers to Defend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's _something_ about Heero Yuy. Dorothy's jealous, Relena's jealous, so is Zechs. Nichol should be too, but he hasn't figured that out yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

"He's a pretty one," Three murmured, curling his fingers into his mouth. His eyes sparkled with a wicked promise.

"Aren't you supposed to be in there? If you want to keep your cover, that is," One observed. "He's going to figure out you're one of us, soon enough. Or is that your intention?"

They lingered in the shadows, watching Eleven's men dealing with the hostages from the robbery. The young man under their direct observation was a lieutenant kneeling next to a short safe. One arm worked the traditional dial, the other held the scope to his ear. Both sleeves were soaked in the blood of the corpse discarded to one side. After a moment, the iron door swung open and the lieutenant signaled for relief.

"That's my cue," Three chuckled. Turning to Heero, Trowa whispered, "I'll see you later. Eleven is letting us take out the _you-know-whats_ for a spin."

Heero grunted, folding his arms across his chest and resolutely looking away from the person he, after a fashion, considered a friend.

"Don't be like that," Trowa shoved Heero shoulder to shoulder as the taller man made his way toward the sound of his name being urgently called. "Six might be there, but I'm fine serving as a chaperon." Trowa's tone reached a higher pitch, "Crazy kids."

"Barton!" Eleven's safecracker shouted again.

"Here! I'm here," Trowa almost sounded like a normal human being in that response. Heero wondered if Trowa had more control than he let on, or if Three really did have a soft spot for the person triumphantly lifting gold bars over his head.

Heero considered the urge to fight, restraint to hold onto what little he had, and when to let everything go.

He lifted his arm and, in the dim light, studied the bandages holding the mangled flesh of his wrists together. Due to the tightness of the wrappings, Heero couldn't block out the pounding pulse of his still beating heart. Perhaps that night it would finally end.

***

"Is anyone keeping count anymore?" Dorothy asked, taking a grape and with absolutely no grace, forcefully tossed it into her mouth. "Why is he so special? Really, all this _drama_ over keeping One alive just in order to kill him again. I blame Five, she started it when she couldn't let the guy bleed out on the beach. Two is all talk and never finishes what he starts. His whole excuse is that he fancies they're _friends_."

"Fancies they're friends," Relena repeated. Her lap and hands were full of cloth and needlepoint thread, but she had made very little progress on her project. "Do you think that he doesn't like girls?"

"Well, he certainly doesn't like boys with how resolutely he turns aside all those advances. But don't get your hopes up, Princess. He's got a death-wish and plans on taking everyone down with him." Dorothy looked thoughtful, an unpleasant expression on her face. "Honestly, it speaks volumes that Heero hangs out with Three so much."

"You're jealous!" Relena exclaimed with a raised brow. "I always wondered about that evening when Trowa gave you the dodge."

"Hardly," Dorothy's gaze drifted in an obvious lie.

Relena continued without pause, "Maybe we could get them together for a double date. You can distract Trowa and I'll convince Heero he's got something worth living for."

"Dates?" The blonde girl laughed, pulling her hair back and lifting the mass to cool her neck. "Grow up, we're long past such childish ideas. Didn't you hear what Treize called me?"

"Four."

Both girls turned, Dorothy halfway in her chair to see him, silently observing from the sidelines. "Oh, Quatre, I forgot you were there." Dorothy's eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept them fixed on the pattern of Relena's carpet.

"Where else would I be?" he responded, sunnily.

***

"Ah, the smell of horse manure in the evening. Nothing quite like it, eh, Heero?" Trowa pushed the stable door open, let his fingertips linger on the wood grain and waited as Heero walked ahead. A horse nickered in greeting. "Really off track, coming in like this. Too bad you can't race. With your slight build and how you manage Wing. That horse." Trowa threw his head back and laughed.

"Not tonight," Heero ignored the first stall and the second, stopping at the third.

"Oh, I see. Take Heavyarms then," Trowa bowed with a serviceable swing of his arms motioning toward the creature that Eleven kept for the lithe number Three's pleasure. "But which will I ride then?"

"Nothing." Six answered as he turned the corner just beyond them, already leading his massive white stallion by the bridle. Tallgeese was retired from professional racing, but with the right mares the beast had sired the Peacecraft family into comfortable, nearly pacifistic retirement. As far as racing went.

Trowa frowned, "That wasn't the deal." More started to stink than simple manure.

"I'll keep you company," Nine said, from the door where the boys had entered. She polished the handle of her decorative weapon, a gun that most definitely still could kill a man if pointed in the right direction.

"At least one number in OZ knows how to issue a decent threat," Trowa huffed, crossing his arms.

"Have you met Eleven?" Noin asked, her voice pleasant.

"Sure," Trowa circled his finger at his temple. "She's... _crazy_."

Noin laughed, "_You_ say."

"Fine." Heero stroked the horse nearest to him, obviously enjoying the friendly way that Heavyarms nuzzled his palm looking for sugar. "A mile and a quarter to settle the dispute."

Shuffling one foot ready to pivot and fight at a word from One, Trowa objected, "Heero. This is stupid."

"This is _fine_," Heero grumbled. "Fine."

"I know what you're doing." Trowa crept close, keeping his voice low. "It won't work. No matter the outcome, Six will be after you and after you and after you. But he won't kill you. That promise is a lie."

"You refused me," Heero's stare flashed with hurt.

"I'd rather kill _him_," Trowa smiled sadly. "This clown can't lie to you, One. I'm not sure I could keep it together if you were gone."

***

"And this?" She traced the line along his shoulder.

"Thrown from a horse."

When she set her lips on him, he could sense the emotional pain escaping as if her touch pulled poison from his skin. Her fingers searched for his, lacing their hands together. He put the body warmed wedding ring to his mouth.

Heero couldn't unwind time. He couldn't undo what he had done, but he'd discovered the next step that One failed to accomplish. Sylvia was his future.

"I wish you would have let me take your name." Stretching herself over him, she smiled into his cheek.

He shook his head. "Not this name."

***

"Stay back." Trowa was angry that time and his fingers dug into Nichol's arm. They watched as Heero Yuy and a petite blond woman went into the cafe across the street.

"He doesn't even know who I am. As much as it pains me to say it, I'm not a blip on his radar," Nichol protested, rubbing his bicep. Summer was pushing into autumn, although, Nichol had protested at great length that Trowa should wear less conspicuous sunglasses. Especially if he was going on about surveillance work. To his relief, Trowa had complied, but in retaliation he had intentionally stomped on Nichol's feet, invading the older man's personal space in public, which was painfully more attention grabbing than the over-sized, red-plastic frames would have been.

Trowa paused, brushed down the front of his brown jacket, studied his fingernails then said with absolute coolness, "Don't treat me like a child."

A long silence continued, Nichol wisely kept quiet.

"And don't assume what I'm trying to accomplish."

When Trowa raised his brows waiting for a response, Nichol slightly nodded. And swallowed hard.

"I shouldn't have to explain things to you. I seem to remember you once _told me_ that a common henchman shouldn't have to think so much." Trowa didn't lose his posture, "Who am I?"

"Three," Nichol whispered, not relaxing even when Trowa rubbed his index finger along his eyelid.

"And those people were?" Trowa motioned with his chin.

"One and Sylvia Noventa."

"And that?" Trowa tilted his head the other way. Nichol turned and saw a neat row of outdoor tables under a canopy. Every seat filled, except for the farthest table where a man sat alone reading a newspaper.

"Him?" Nichol looked back to meet Trowa's eyes. He'd taken off the modest sunglasses and Nichol's breath stuck at the frighteningly rational expression in the green eyes.

"Yes, _that_ person is Chang Wufei."

"Should I know the name?" Nichol thought back to before, when he'd worked for Eleven and had ambitions to become more than an associate in OZ. He didn't know any numbers with that designation.

"Heero Yuy does know who you are," Trowa clarified. "So we aren't going to follow One. That would certainly get us in trouble. I want you to trail that man instead." Trowa squeezed Nichol's arm, certainly a sign of affection except for the painful pressure put on the lingering bruises. "Do me proud."

Released for the first time in months, Nichol sensed the virtual bonds he'd associated with his imprisonment to Trowa being severed. Trowa pulled back and started away. Three gave his final instruction, "Don't find me, I'll find you."

"Hey," Nichol started to say. This was the sort of work Nichol usually handed down to others. A year ago, he would have been giving this assignment to a kid he only thought of as Barton. But, he realized he'd never seen Three work with anyone before.

Adrift, Nichol had to shake himself alert as if coming to the surface after a long, leisurely spell under water.

Turning, he saw a waitress escorting a new couple to the unoccupied, far table with a folded newspaper on top.

Nichol swore, "Damn."


	12. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief glimpse at Nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Nine looked down from the upper balcony and watched the young woman, newly appointed as Eight, make notes. The young woman was wearing a simple skirt and blouse with a jaunty pink beret, old bruises steadily fading on her cheeks. Nine found herself wrinkling her nose at the color of the beret and then turned to look over at Five.

"Do you think I look like her?" Noin asked softly.

Five arched an eyebrow and looked down at where Noin had been looking. She watched Hilde Schbieker closely for a second and then shook her head. "Your Italian roots are clear in your features, she's more…like a pixie." Sally then grinned and added, "Besides she's a better dresser."

Noin gave Five a withering looking. "She only dresses well because of Eleven, Sal."

"I beg to differ. She also dressed very sharply when she worked at the station." She grinned at the irritation on Nine's face. "Fashion isn't important, Noin. Why do you think she looks like you? Is it just the short hair?"

"I…I don't." She defended and looked back down at the girl. Eleven approached and Hilde smiled softly. Nine watched the way the Lady reached out to touch the young woman's cheek.

Sally had moved, leaning in close, looking at the same scene. "Are you afraid she's replacing you with Eight?"

"That isn't funny. She never had me." Nine shook her head. "She's cracked."

Five nodded and the said, "She wasn't always. I know you know that. Besides, she's definitely making improvements." She paused and considered, "Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't."

*****

It did matter.

Lucrezia Noin had visited that house on the hill often as a teenager. She had seen the way the family worked. The way they had taken in the ragtag young woman and recreated her into a perfect lady, but that wasn't all. It wasn't-

She bit at her lip and then hit the punching bag another time. The door to the gym opened and she didn't even turn around. She kept hitting the bag.

"Why is it," Nine heard the woman behind her ask, "that you are always watching Hilde?"

Noin hit the bag with extra force. She huffed and turned around. The Lady was eyeing her, still wearing a conservative suit from her day life as a lawyer.

"Maybe I'm still learning to trust her, as a number." Noin replied. She shook off her gloves and picked up a bottle of water, gulping at it desperately. Une was watching her carefully. "Is there something else, Josephine?"

Lady Une grinned. "When we were young you'd idly tag along where ever Milliardo went, and you still do. He never liked me much, and so you've never liked me much."

Noin huffed. "Yeah, well Treize respects Milliardo, and so you-"

"I don't respect him. I tolerate him. I've tolerated him since I was thirteen years old. Every snide little remark that meant everything and nothing, and so you see, we are very different."

Lucrezia Noin laughed, nodding in agreement. She didn't add that she was a fully functioning number without a mental default. She wanted to though.

Une stepped over to her and leaned against a wall. She shut her eyes for a moment and then removed her glasses, placing them in the pocket of her suit jacket.

"Where is Eight?" Noin asked and walked back over to the punching bag.

"It's her night off." She shut her eyes and listened as Noin pummeled the bag. She grinned to state, "You're dance is off. You've always needed to work on your footwork."

"So you've always said. You never did help me with that."

"I had school, and you had your Marquis." She kicked off her heels and wandered behind the bag holding it firmly. "And will you follow him when he decides he's had enough of waiting and flies after his biggest desire?"

Lucrezia punched the bag and then swung around and kicked it. Une kept if firmly in place. Noin found herself glaring at the woman.

"How sad for Five when you go?" Une said softly, stepping out from behind the bag.

Noin gritted her teeth and flew at the woman who carefully dodged the angry one-two punch.

"Nine, let's not fight." Une said softly. "You and I will never get along Lucrezia, but I understand where your loyalties lie. You should understand where mine have always been, from the beginning, through everything. Every sting. Every punch. Every word. Every dried rose." She paused and watched Noin seethe in anger. "It's not because I love him and will never really have him. It's because I owe him that."

"You're broken." Nine said in a huff.

"I know." Une said. "But so are you, just in a different way."

The Lady walked back over to her heels and put them back on. She stalked back to the door and paused to look at Noin. "When you make your choice, Lucrezia Noin, I'll be watching, and I know, I know you'll thoroughly disappoint me. And that makes you completely the opposite of Eight in every way." She grinned and mentioned, "Love the haircut by the way."

The door shut. Une was gone.

"Damn it!" Noin shouted.

*****

There had been a lull in the summer activities that year. Milliardo didn't want her to come with him on horseback so she obediently stayed behind at the house. The young woman that Milliardo referred to as a charity case was home from her first year at college so Noin wandered over to the make shift gym.

She leaned in the doorway and watched the young woman do pull ups. Getting curious stepped in closer. Josephine Une stopped and daggled from the bar watching her expectantly and then dropped to the ground.

"I guess the glue wore off." Josephine said with a smile.

"What?"

"Nothing." She stepped over and picked up her boxing gloves. "Care to dance?"

"I-"

"You should cut your hair. A shorter cut would bring more attention to those strong features of yours."

Noin blinked, toying with the end of her long hair. "He likes it long."

Une shrugged. "Well then I suppose his opinion is the only thing that matters."

Noin scowled and immediately stomped off to another part of the house.


	13. Paint by Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Numbers worry about Trowa after he sends Nichol away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian
> 
> _Humor. I was asked to write crack by Alithea and Auzrais. What they inspired started coming out in Numbers 'verse form... and I decided that the series is all cracked. This is just slightly more so._

"Looks like a fat man to me. Did Nichol transform into a sumo wrestler?"

"You're at the wrong angle," Trowa growled.

"Maybe _you're_ at the wrong angle," Dorothy sat on the arm of the chair, it wasn't comfortable but it was the only way she could get close to him without removing the sketch book from his lap. She pushed herself into his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his neck like a snake. She put her cheek next to his. "At this angle," she squinted. Then choosing a different tactic, she continued, "Maybe you should work from a photograph. Don't you have one around here?"

Dorothy stood up and looked around the apartment. She stepped over and around the piles of clothing strewn about like continents dividing a shrinking sea of carpet. The table was set at an angle with a precariously balanced box of uneaten, football-sized donuts set on top of what first looked like charred napkins and, at a closer look, was scorched sheet music.

"Didn't like the tune?" Dorothy asked, finding her way to the bookshelf set inside the walls. The picture frames there were empty, nothing but reflecting glass over the dark back.

Trowa glanced up from where he had frantically been using an eraser nub over what must have been the whole of the page.

"Hmm?" He asked, glancing around as if a high school teacher had just called his name. Seeing Dorothy, his first expression seemed surprise, until he answered exactly, "That was evidence from a job. And yes, it was horrible. Not fit to be seen, learned or performed. Let alone heard."

"Boys and their music," Dorothy fixed her hair from the reflection. "I should introduce you to Quatre."

"Who?" Trowa asked, this time using the lead against the paper. His tongue appeared, stuck out in concentration between his lips. "I can't remember what he looks like."

"Quatre?" Dorothy brushed down her eyebrows noticing in her reflection how they split apart at the end. Relena was so bad at using wax. Dorothy should have foregone girl's night and paid a professional.

"Who?" Trowa asked again. "No, I can't remember what _he_ looks like."

"Do you mean Nichol? Because narrowing it down to one gender doesn't exactly help much." Dorothy spun around and navigated her way back to Trowa's chair.

Trowa grunted.

"Why did you send him away?" Dorothy perched on the wooden arm again. "I thought you were getting along so well."

"I think I was living on him," Trowa revealed. What he was revealing Dorothy couldn't pin-point for certain. "Prepositions, so particular."

Making disappointed noises in his throat, he lifted the book and twisted it to the right and left like a steering wheel. Trowa supplied automobile sound effects.

"Do you want me to say it looks like him, when it doesn't?" Dorothy had assumed Trowa was a competent artist from what she'd seen of his work before... usually in blood, smeared on walls, but through the erased smears and pencil marks on that paper she couldn't even say what she was seeing constituted a face. Perhaps he needed alcohol. Perhaps the image was symbolic of how Nichol made him feel... if the feeling was oily, dark and shiny with tic-tac-toe lines on top.

"Montana," Trowa dropped the book on the floor and started pacing the five feet of free space before his chair.

"Is that where he went to? Maybe you should get him back," Dorothy searched for answers.

"No, that's what he looks like when done in pencil," Trowa ran all his fingers through his hair pulling it up from the roots. "That's it. I have the wrong medium..."

"Nothing beats the real thing," Dorothy reminded.

"I did." Trowa pinched his lower lip. "Beat him. The real thing."

"Oh Trowa." Dorothy put her face in her hands.

***

"How's he doing?" Hilde asked. Dorothy had called her and asked if the newly designated Eight would like to go antiquing with them. Apparently, Trowa needed a fountain pen from the 1700's in order to complete his artistic rendition of the man he loved. Dorothy was pretty sure the pawn shop wasn't going to help find the item in question, but that was Trowa's first destination on the list he'd written. (The list also included: new sunglasses, business cards, little tree air fresheners, shoe strings and red peppers.)

"He's..." Dorothy waved in the direction of where Trowa was using a toothpick in the nearby mirror. "Missing his goofy sidekick."

Hilde slipped off the suede beret she'd chosen to match her handbag in order to try on a top hat that matched the scarf and glove set she'd purchased for the Lady's birthday. Une claimed it was her birthday that weekend, although Eleven had made them celebrate two months before. Hilde liked an excuse to dress up nice and throw a party, so she didn't mind the minor deceptions.

"Does anyone know where Nichol has gone?" Hilde asked.

Dorothy's expression turned coy, "Want another go at slicing open his throat?"

"I held back because he asked me to. He did what he had to do. So did I."

"Trowa asked?" Dorothy laughed.

"In not so many words," Hilde shrugged. "Besides, sparing Nichol gives us leverage with Three that we never had before."

"Maybe that's why he sent Nichol away. We don't have anything now," Dorothy found a child-size violin partially underneath the skirts of a porcelain doll. She accidentally loosed a shrill noise before composing herself. Putting her fingers over her mouth, she knew that she'd finally found the perfect gift for her oddly absent bright-haired shadow.

"Tell them it's broken and they'll give you a percentage off the price."

"It's not broken," Dorothy pointed out.

"Now it is."

***

"Why are we here?" Sally asked. "I mean, the music is nice and all, but I doubt that Nichol is going to randomly show up in a deep south themed gay bar."

"I'm pretty sure that by now Trowa would know if Nichol's, you know..." Dorothy peeked between her fingers toward the stage where the slender man coaxed a twang from a well-used guitar. Earlier two strings had snapped and they dangled like shining spider webs. She thought that would have ended the set, but Trowa continued picking away with no small measure of skill.

For mid-afternoon, the facility was reasonably occupied with a dozen men wearing suits, ties and wire-rimmed glasses. Each and every one of those dozen had harassed Dorothy for Trowa's personal information.

"You don't want it," she insisted.

"He's obviously lost someone," the last man persisted.

"What gave it away?" Dorothy sighed listening to Trowa's melancholy chorus for the thirty-seventh time. "I'm sure you're a nice guy and all, but he's not. Definitely not the guy you want mixed up with."

"I get it," Sally said at last, putting her fist into her palm with a triumphant smack. "He must think that the rhyming lyrics are a magical spell to make Nichol manifest before us. A musical representation of his love."

"Likely so," Dorothy swallowed the last of her drink, while waving the bartender for more.

***

The next day, Dorothy arrived at Trowa's apartment to find him standing on the drafting table working a rope through the beams between the ceiling tiles. "Setting something up for One?" she asked.

"I need to steal a car," Trowa replied. The rope shined with a golden color as Dorothy saw he was in the process of creating an organized loop between his palm and elbow, round and round, until he slung it easily over his shoulder.

"And the rope is..."

"To lasso it!" Trowa grinned.

***

Outside, Trowa hopped up and down on the sidewalk. In addition to the bouncing, he held a spray paint can in both hands and shook those double-time as well. A well-bundled, homeless man looked around for a place to drop some coins in appreciation for the act, but, finding nothing, continued on his way.

Dorothy walked toward him more cautiously. A large black van was parked nearby and it was either poorly disguised government surveillance, the vehicle Trowa'd finally decided upon, or a poorly disguised government surveillance vehicle Trowa'd finally decided upon.

Trowa tilted his head toward the side of the van. Obviously, she was missing something, so Dorothy stepped around and did a double-take. Trowa had doodled pictures of the designated representatives of the Numbers, faces mostly, although he'd done rather loving full body poses of Eight and Dorothy herself. The paper was cut around the limits of the drawings and randomly stuck at various points around the van.

"This isn't what I think it is..." Dorothy sighed.

"Paint by Numbers." Trowa chipperly made a broad stroke on the vehicle connecting Heero Yuy's face to one of Duo Maxwell.

Dorothy frowned.

"Don't worry," Trowa hastened to reassure her. "This is only a base. I'm going to airbrush Nichol's likeness onto it later."

Two weeks into the project, Dorothy wasn't certain that anyone should say anything about Trowa's new transportation. The artwork was good. Trowa'd slept in the vehicle with only his puce and pink paisley maglight as company for an entire week saying it made him feel closer to the one he loved. But, pictorially, the person he loved seemed to be a dark-haired, buxom woman dressed in tan animal skins and running barefoot while wielding a spear.

The hair color was right.

***

"You need to get him back," Dorothy encouraged. Trowa looked more thin, if that were possible. "I thought he'd turn up by now, ridiculously co-dependent for all his bluster."

"I told him that I'd find _him._" Trowa remained in bed, his actual bed, not the renovated van, the couch or on top of a pile of clothes. The blanket was pulled up over his nose and green eyes darted around the room as if searching for something or someone.

"Easier." Sitting on the corner of the bed, Dorothy found the end of her patience as she pulled at a loose string. "Then get up, find your lasso again, and go rope yourself a grumpy Russian."

"I can't," Trowa squeezed his eyes shut.

"Why not?"

"I need help."

"Then ask, anything."

"I can't remember what he looks like."

"Seriously? So the failed art is exactly that...?"

Trowa nodded.

Dorothy laughed, "But I thought, you know. Men are all about appearance. How attractive people are."

"Not gay ones."

"_Especially_ the gay ones," Dorothy corrected.

Trowa's face twisted between deep sadness and something Dorothy knew would hurt, and hurt bad, if she came into contact with it.

"But that's something we can work on once we get your Nichol here where he belongs." She pulled back the blanket. "C'mon, Trowa. I'll help you and we'll call us even."

Trowa stood and took her hand. "Well, _you're_ even. I'm not."

Dorothy smiled, "Yes. That's right, Three. You're _odd_."


	14. Dancing in 4/8 Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothy stirs up some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Dorothy's eyebrows rose as Hilde stepped out of the dressing room and stood in front of the boutique's mirrors. Her eyes slid to catch the non-reaction of the blonde young man next to her who smiled prettily, but seemed unaffected by Hilde's form in the small black dress. Newly appointed Eight had an odd style about her. It was all at once too tomboyish and girly at the same time. That was not to say that Hilde Schbeiker looked ridiculous in her clothes, because she pulled off the looks with ease and comfort. She was just hard to figure out.

"What do you think?" Hilde asked and turned to look over at Dorothy.

"I think you'll be lucky if you get to the party when the Lady sees you in this dress." She grinned and then added, "Which seems a shame given that this party is supposed to be in honor of Lady Une's charitable achievements."

"Well, a good dress is one you look fantastic in, and one that makes your partner want to get it off of you as soon as possible." Hilde grinned, looking into the mirror. "Besides, we're taking separate cars to the party."

"What a shame?"

Hilde turned and looked over at the young man. "And what do you think, Mr. Winner?"

He looked over at her and nodded. "Lovely."

"Awesome." Hilde said and turned to Dorothy. "I don't suppose you have an opinion regarding gloves."

Dorothy was about to say something when Quatre stated quickly, "White."

Both women looked over at him, Dorothy slightly more astonished than Hilde by the sound of the young man's voice.

****

She had been cruising the outskirts of the last pieces of the party's step up. Four trying to devise a clever way to get Relena distracted for the evening so that she might have a moment's peace. She went up to the girl's room where the princess was getting into her dress and having the last of the curlers removed from her hair. She spied a blurry photo in a frame and snorted out a laugh.

"Really, Relena, you can barely make out One's features in this." She tapped the golden frame and watched the young woman make a face.

"It was the best one I could find from the files." Relena stated in defense.

"Shouldn't you concentrate on someone who might actually enjoy being chased around?" She stepped up and leaned against Relena's vanity.

"Shouldn't _you_ be getting dressed?"

"Of course." She looked at the young woman's dress and frowned. "Have you ever thought of having Eleven or Eight take you out shopping?"

"Eleven's-"

"Yes, yes," Dorothy said waving a dismissive hand. "Eight isn't. She's a snappy dresser."

"I like my dress."

Dorothy grinned wolfishly. "Of course you do, princess."

******

The last time the OZ and the Alliance were supposed to get together for a party it never happened. A police raid spoiled the entire event. In order to patch things up Senator Peacecraft had used his political ties to arrange for a charitable award to be granted, and was surprised that without any coaching the award went to Josephine Une. The ruse would keep the police from interrupting a more important meeting. There were far too many well connected upstanding citizens attending the party.

Relena was the belle of the ball before Lady Une showed up, and once Eight arrived there was hardly anyone but her usual retinue paying her any attention at all. Instead of throwing a temper tantrum Dorothy was surprised to see the princess smile graciously and step over to talk to the young woman. There was a disaster coming, Four could feel it in her bones and was delighted by the prospects.

"Miss Schbeiker," Relena said softly, "you look fabulous tonight. I'm so used to seeing you in those suits." There was supposed to be something backhanded about the compliment that lost its force halfway out of the princess's mouth.

"Thank you, Miss Peacecraft." Hilde looked about searching for Une who was probably just toying with her and watching the exchange from the shadows. She never felt prepared for conversations with Relena.

"Are you…" Relena took in a deep breath and then continued. "Are you going to be dancing tonight?"

"I'm not sure my date tonight would find that prudent given the atmosphere."

"Oh, well…" She shrugged off the arm of the young man she was with. "I know how that is. Conversation can be so much more fulfilling."

Hilde nodded slightly. Her eyes shifted and she saw Une approaching with a rather more feral grin than she was used to, and surprised that it should be so pointed towards the princess.

"Ah, Hilde," Une said." I was wondering where you were. You look ravishing." She turned looking at Relena. "I love a simple dress, don't you Miss Peacecraft?"

Relena took a deep breath and grabbed at the folds of her rather poofy dress. She nodded and then said, "Lovely."

Hilde sighed. Une stepped in closer to her slinging an arm around her waist. "Can I get a dance?"

"Sure." The answer was hesitant and markedly confused, but then Hilde looked over at Relena's reaction and felt she finally understood what was going on.

*****

Dorothy fought her urge to skip over to Relena and rub salt in the already forming wound. Not only was the princess not the prettiest girl at the ball but her odd attempts at flirting with another woman had gone up in mile high flames. Eleven was truly a class act on those occasions when she had all her marbles.

She stood next to the girl and waited.

Relena eventually turned to her and asked, "Do you think she looks like him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Eight, she sort of looks like One, don't you think?"

With all her strength she kept her jaw from hitting the floor and then, because she was tired of behaving herself, she said, "In a way. I can sort of see the resemblance."

Relena smiled. "I think you're right."

"About?"

"I think I should have Eight take me shopping."

Dorothy grinned. "Oh, do that. I'd love to hear how that turns out."


	15. Number Eighteen of Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very few people know the real Lady Une. One of them is Iria Winner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

If she shut her eyes Iria Winner could remember what her mother looked like. She liked to take the time to remember before she went to work. He mother covered in scars from the accident that was in no way an accident. She had been caught in the cross fire of the Alliance and it wasn't long before her mother was lost completely. Her father hastily shrugged off his ties to the organization, burning away the tattoo of his number and leaving a huge scar on his right shoulder.

He had been called Forty-One.

There were those that still called him by his number, and they did it to injure him. There was no escaping the Numbers, not really. There was always a price to be paid for leaving. Iria had seen those prices paid dearly. She was seeing them again in the waiting room of the hospital.

He stood there, handsome and full of concern. Handsome and arrogant. Handsome and cruel. She didn't want to look him in the eyes, but she forced herself to. She did it so he could read the defiance on her face. So that maybe he would see that she was not going to be played. She was never going to take a number.

"How is she?" He asked and she felt as if the concern that showed on his face was a trap. Looking closer she could see that it was not.

Iria took a breath and glanced at the chart in her hands. "Gunshot to the stomach, fractured left wrist, and one hell of a concussion…She'll live. We were able to get the bullet out of her in time."

He nodded slightly, the muscle in his jaw tight. Those weren't the injuries he was thinking of.

"She's broken, Mr. Khushrenada." Iria finally said. "The split is most definite."

"I see." He looked her over and she wondered if he was seeing her mother, or perhaps her brother in her features. "Can I see her?"

"She's sedated, but you can see her." She turned on her heels, listened to the way he followed her through the doors and into the ICU. The curtains were drawn on the only private room on that floor of the hospital. If she had had her way the patient in question would be out with the rest of the rabble. She shut the door and leaned against it.

"Are the restraints really necessary?" He touched the brown leather of the restraint on the patient's wrist with a gloved hand.

Iria didn't know how to handle the situation at all. It was really just a nightmare all balled up into a bigger inescapable dream.

"They are, especially if Eleven wakes up first." She brushed back a strand of short blonde hair from her face. "And it is very likely that Eleven will wake up first." She pinched the bridge of her nose and then added, "The Lady always forgets where she is, but I think that will pass soon."

He seemed pained to hear it. He turned in his chair and looked at Iria. "What do you recommend?"

"About the split?"

He nodded.

She looked at the woman in the bed and then stepped closer. She brushed her thumb across the woman's cheek and sighed. "I'm not sure conventional therapy will help her, because with the strength Eleven shows that would mean locking her up. That coupled with drugs…I'm not sure it would help pull her back together."

"What would?"

"I don't know, Treize. All I know for certain is that she's very loyal to you. Both sides are." She shook her head. "Look, this goes against everything I know and believe in as a doctor, but it's possible they can both function well for you."

His brow creased in thought.

Iria continued, "Eleven is a cold vicious task master who will perform exactly as you demand. If you hold the leash she can be controlled and a valuable asset. The other, the Lady she's just as Jo-" And she stopped herself from using the name before continuing, "Just as Ms. Une was before regarding the law and helping others, she's just more passionate about that side of things…like a princess from a fairytale."

Treize stood up and looked over at Iria who was still focusing on Une.

"Any other recommendations for me?"

She looked up at him, blue eyes damning and cold. "No."

"You still wear the necklace."

"It's a nice piece. It's a reminder."

He nodded and stepped to the door.

"Tell your wife I said hello," Iria said quickly and then added, "You might consider finding Une an assistant who can handle all the ups and downs that are going to be a firm part of her condition."

Treize nodded with a slight smile that became a frown. He left the room.

"That bastard." Iria whispered.

*****

Three men had been brought in and were waiting at the factory for Eleven's attention. She slid out of the car and entered the old building quietly observing the way the young woman at her side looked around the space. She grinned then and hastened her pace into the large space of the building.

Low light filtered throughout and where the most light existed there were three benches. Each had a man strapped down to it, and the men there fought in vain against the duct tape and ropes that held them in place.

Eleven turned to the young woman next to her then. "Eight, I want you to learn something important."

"Yes, ma'am." The young woman replied and took a deep breath. She had been spared having to watch Eleven work for a long time. She definitely wasn't ready for it, but she was a number, she had to learn.

"The lesson today is to remind you what the OZ does to traitors when we catch them red handed." Her smile grew and she stepped over to a table that was cluttered with weapons and instruments. She selected a dental tool and twirled it around in her fingers before turning back to face the young woman again. "Sometimes we shoot them quickly. Sometimes we are asked to take our time and prolong the agony. Sometimes we set them free, but at a price."

Une turned sharply and stepped towards one of the benches. She looked the man over and then asked, "What price do you think Five ask me to have you pay?"

Muffled screaming filled the room.

Eight lost the contents of her stomach behind a crate.

Eleven laughed wildly as she finished and then stepped over to where Eight was standing. She placed a hand on the young woman's back and received a frightened look.

"Was that so bad?" Eleven asked.

"I-"

"I know it was." Eleven cut in sharply. "Let's to dinner."

"What about the other two?"

"The building is scheduled for demolition in the morning. I think it will accidentally implode in about five minutes and forty-two seconds." She tugged at Eight's arm. "We shouldn't linger behind."

They left in a jog. Looking more carefully Eight could see the explosives strapped to the other two men, and the other devices she knew she hadn't seen earlier. Eleven's men filtered out at the same time, and later while they were in the car and the Lady was stroking Eight's hair the rumble of the buildings implosion shook through the city.

*****

"I hate late night cram sessions," Iria complained as she entered her room at the sorority. She shut the door and looked over at her roommate who was in bed with a book. "Tell me you didn't read all of that tonight?"

Her roommate looked over at her, brown eyes peering from behind wireless circular frames and shrugged, smiling slightly.

"Honestly Jo, you should take a break every now and again. Go out on a date." Iria dragged her book bag over to her desk and then she flopped onto her bed, shutting her eyes. A moment passed and then she asked, "What are you reading?"

"Jekyll and Hyde."

Iria opened her eyes and tilted her head to the side. "I thought you had wrapped up all your English requirements."

"I did. This is for fun." Jo smiled and placed the book to the side with great care. "No dates for you tonight after the cram?"

"There isn't anyone here that I fancy." She sat up and sighed. "I suppose its bad form not to party a little in a sorority like this."

"Possibly. I joined for the later social connections it would earn me."

Iria laughed. "Really, that's it?"

Jo pulled her knees in close to her chest and leaned against them. "I know exactly what I'm going to do with my life."

"A perfect plan, those never go right."

"They do if you have contingencies for when things go wrong." Jo stated coolly.

"Maybe you should join the army."

"I had considered it, but this is much better. Military strategy will only get one so far, there are other things to consider."

Confused Iria just nodded.

Jo laid back into her bed and then sat up. She swung her legs over the side and gripped at the edge. "You look so lovely tonight, Iria."

*****

The hospital room made Lady Une uncomfortable. She had a feeling there was a reason why that was. She sat on the chair next to Hilde and held the young woman's hand and stood up hastily when the doctor walked in.

"Une?" The doctor said with shock.

Lady Une sighed and shook her head. "Iria. I'm glad it's you."

"Dr. Winner, for now." She said and watched as Une nodded politely. She glanced at the chart. "Aside from taking quite the wallop to the head it looks like your friend here will be fine. She'll have a lot of bruises though."

The relief in the Lady's features caused Iria to blink back tears. "How long-"

"I'm not fixed." Une said softly. She looked back at Hilde in the bed. "She'll be fine then? She's strong?"

"Very." She stepped closer. "She get hit by a truck?"

"A truck named Otto." Her eyes narrowed and then she added, "He has his own problems to deal with."

Iria shook her head and sighed. "I didn't-"

"I know." She brushed her thumb very gently across Hilde's cheek and then looked back over at the doctor. The woman was clutching Hilde's chart to her chest tightly, fiddling slightly with the charm of her gold necklace. "I am sorry that we had to meet like this."

"It's what you chose." Iria then quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Is she a number?"

Une nodded. "No one tells you anything, do they?"

"No one named Khushrenada likes to keep me in the dark because-"

"Iria, let's not do this here. I'll talk to him about it." Une sat back down in the chair. "You should be aware of who is an important case despite your decision."

"Maybe that's just the price I have to pay for wanting out." She watched the way Une shut her eyes and shook her head. "What's the price then?"

"Knowing about it all, and the way it works is the heaviest cost he or I can administer to you."

Hilde stirred, muttering incoherently.

"She's due for another dose of pain killers." Iria stated leaving the conversation for her work as quickly as she could. "I'll get the nurse."

Une nodded. "Iria, I'm not sure what would happen if I lost her."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you won't take the confession as a sign of weakness in me." She pushed the glasses on her face up the bridge of her nose. "And, because I think you can make the others understand that."

Iria nodded. "All I can do is make the warning. Keeping yourself together if others fail to hear me is something you will have to work on yourself, Jo."

******

Marriage, everyone seemed to want her to get married right out of medical school. It felt like a waste and when she spoke her fears out loud to some of her friends at the sorority, well, they didn't take her seriously. Jo took her seriously though. She listened with quiet understanding and Iria took it for granted that Jo never complained about anything. And then one day she met Treize Khushrenada.

He grinned at her. He was charming and responsive, encouraging, admired her goals. She thought she understood his relationship with Jo, but she didn't. She wasn't sure she ever could once he kissed her. It should have been a warning. She never took those flashing buzzers in her head seriously enough when they went off.

There had been a moment when she considered talking to Jo about him, but she wasn't sure how to broach the subject. She really didn't have to and when confirmation arrived she tried not to look hurt.

"He's married," Jo said softly one night. "I'm not telling you to be cruel. I'm telling you because I know he won't. She's clueless too which doesn't make it any easier."

Iria felt the tears running down her cheek as she lay in bed. She tried swallowing the jagged lump in her throat that was tearing her apart. Her hand reached up to her neck and she began to play with the plain gold chain and charm that had been gifted to her. She was so inept sometimes.

"You love him too?" She hoped the sound didn't sound as choked as she thought it did.

"Sort of, no one may ever understand how I really feel about him."

"What a bastard."

"He likes you though, that means something even if you hate him forever because of this." Jo said softly and her tone was so reassuring, Iria wasn't sure why it eased the pain.

*******

"Another hotel?" Hilde asked and watched as the cityscape flew by as the car zipped along the freeway.

"No. We've been frequenting those far too often." Une said quickly. "The barge has gotten old as well."

"So what have you done with it, it's full of-"

Une put a finger to her lips. "I've made arrangements."

And somewhere out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean a giant boat sank to the bottom of the seafloor, exploding underwater causing violent ripples to move up and through the dense salt water.

Une grinned when she glanced at her watch. "I think what you need is a flat of your own."

Hilde looked over at her, eyebrows raised in concern.

"You're a number. You need something to mark your status, and a place to stay on your nights off." The Lady chuckled and added, "A place to run away to when the princess calls."

"Don't remind me. You shouldn't think it's cute."

"I don't." Une stated darkly. "I know why it's happening and that is what I find funny."

Hilde nodded, running her thumb over the hat box in her hands.

"Not many people are given such honors, Hilde."

"Oh?"

Une nodded. "Even Four doesn't have a fez. I think there's only one other woman on the planet that Rashid has shown such respect to."

"Interesting." She grinned and leaned back into her seat and then against Une as the older woman pulled her closer. "What's she like?"

"Stronger than anyone would ever guess." She grinned, an inward joke dancing across her lips. "I suppose she's a little bit like you, but more…She's… very stubborn."

*****

Sometimes things just happened, but unlike other girls she had heard talk about the same sort of experience, Iria was not intoxicated. She was very much in the moment. She tried to understand those others who talked about such moments as silly and just a bit of fun. The kiss wasn't silly, and while every moment was enjoyable it was excruciatingly so. She wasn't sure why it hadn't happened before.

Jo had kissed her way down Iria's stomach and then found a clever use of her tongue that even a lover like Treize didn't know existed. She was quite sure her eyes had rolled back completely as her eyelids fluttered and she attempted not to voice her pleasure. She was being too loud. She was certain she was and so she bit her lower lip as hard as she could while Jo chuckled into her thigh. She wasn't sure she'd ever come back from the edge of reason.

"Your lip is bleeding," Jo whispered, shaking her back to life after pulling away from another quick kiss. "Maybe we should-"

But Iria had recovered her senses and had pinned Jo beneath her. She stared into her brown eyes and tried to decide what to do with her prisoner. Instead of the millions of lured ideas that passed through her mind she loosened her grip and stroked Jo's cheek with her thumb. She sighed and then kissed her roommate softly.

"Can't this be graceful?" She whispered and tried to decipher the new look that was crossing Jo's features.

"It can be whatever you want."

Iria kissed Jo again, freeing her completely, lowering herself to rest her head on her roommate's chest.

"I'm not sure I can be what you want, Jo."

"Oh, I know." She replied, trailing a hand up Iria's back, making her shiver. "But can you at least give me what I need, right now, for right now?"

She took in a deep breath and propped herself up, kissing Jo deeply, unable to answer truthfully, wanting to be able to give something.

"You're lovely, Josephine, you'll always be lovely." Iria finally whispered.

******

Treize Khushrenada was in the room when Josephine Une opened her eyes and he found the Lady staring up at him. He had experienced Eleven earlier and she was frightening, but clearly effective. Now there was this lady, who smiled so kindly at him, was grateful for him.

"Lady, how are you feeling?" He asked.

"Tired. Did I swoon?"

He blinked and then said, "Yes, at dinner. I'm afraid you had an appendicitis."

She looked around at her surroundings and nodded. "I see. I have-"

"Your cases can wait. You'll have to spend a few more days here I'm afraid." He interrupted.

The door swung open. Une's gaze immediately shifted to the female doctor standing in the doorway. She blinked and then smiled. "I hadn't realized you were working here, Ms. Winner."

Iria painted on a smile and stepped forward. "It has been a long time since I've seen you Ms. Une."

Treize grinned.

Iria wanted to stab him in the neck with her pen. She might have if she thought Eleven would wake at the slightest hint of violent action.

"Perhaps, I should leave you in Ms. Winner's care." Treize said quickly, standing up. He patted Iria's shoulder as he hastily made his exit.

"Honestly, I don't know why he's like that." Une said softly. She reached out a hand and Iria stepped forward without hesitation. "I have missed you so."

"Oh, Jo," Iria said taking the out stretched hand in her own, kissing it softly. "Maintaining grace everywhere."

The Lady smiled, almost laughed. "Isn't that what you've always wanted from me?"


	16. Congruent Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motivated by the memory of his wife, Wufei pursues a dangerous course of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

"He was the sort of father who took his kids with him on safari. Let them watch while he poached tigers, used the skins for rugs and the teeth for jewelry and things like that. Did you know that Trowa Barton had a lion cub for a pet? Slept with the creature in the same bed. Real cute set-up, sweet bonding and best friends, until Barton senior decided that he needed to punish Trowa one day."

"I've seen the scars," Nichol grumbled, putting his fork into the half gone scrambled eggs. He liberally peppered the bite before chewing.

"So you know who you're dealing with?"

Leaning back in his chair, Nichol smirked, "Do you?"

Wufei shook his head and pulled out the empty chair, "I know you've been running crappy surveillance on me for the past week. Only thing I can't decide is if you're really this bad or if you wanted me to catch you."

"Have you tried sleeping with a lion?" Nichol responded.

Wufei couldn't see the family resemblance, but he'd read what remained of the missing person's file for Katya Mihailov's nephew. The paperwork had read like a crime: missing property, as the theft included a few dollars and duffel of the boy's clothing, and vandalism, since the teenaged escapee couldn't resist smashing out his bedroom window. From the pictures, it looked like young Nichol had to file the bars out of his windows before he could break them open.

"You left one cage for another," Wufei said, not unkindly. He turned over the extra, white mug and the waitress came over to fill it up. He tasted the bitter, hot drink then asked, "I could use a C.I., unless you wanted to get arrested."

Nichol stared into the street. His lips working around the bite of breakfast in an exaggerated manner, as if the taste had gone off. He swallowed heavily along an unshaven neck.

"The lion doesn't harm you until you harm it," Nichol said.

"I'm not like the other detective..." Wufei argued, leaning forward and wrapping his fingers around the mug.

"No, you listen to me," Nichol interrupted. "The scars were from his father after the bastard cut _through_ the cub that was trying to protect his boy."

"Stories get embellished," Wufei replied. "Doesn't change the fact that Trowa Barton is one of the Numbers."

"Makes all the difference for me." Nichol pulled down at the neck of his shirt. "This cut didn't go any deeper because he got in the way of it. I owe him."

Wufei whistled low in acknowledgment. Perhaps a change in strategy was in order. "Well, in that case, how far would you go to get him out of trouble?"

***

"I thought you went for a coffee?" Sally asked from the drivers seat of their squad car when Wufei came back without anything in hand. She appeared to have been scrolling through information on her phone the last picture a rather obvious stop on a well known common criminal. That detail meant little, she could have been doing anything just prior. Work for the city or work for the organized crime underneath the city.

"They water it down in that place," Wufei shrugged while putting on the seat belt. Then because he was required to ask, he tapped the edge of her phone. "Is that our next case?"

"Yeah, would be, except that we've been called back to the office to deal with something a little more pressing."

"More pressing than a rapist?" Wufei frowned, his eyes skimming the visible text.

"Someone sank the Barge. Water patrol is searching for survivors, but we both know who's desk gets this sort of legwork..."

But Wufei didn't hear anymore of what she said, his investigation files on Barge were extracurricular work that he'd limited to his off hours at home. Either the world just played a random wild card or someone was letting Wufei know they were wise to his side projects.

"Maybe we should get you something stronger." Sally's voice interrupted, "If you're going to zone out like that, Detective."

Wufei declined, "My _problem_ is that I feel too alert. The window on this bastard, Doppelt, is closing."

"I thought you would have been more interested in Barge," Sally's expression appeared genuinely curious.

Wufei turned away from her and, leaning on his arm, watched the city over the frame of the vehicle. "All I'm interested in is catching the bad guys."

***

As far as arranged marriages went, Meilan had been beautiful. His peers at the academy had mocked Wufei relentlessly about the circumstances of their meeting, a blind date while accompanied by a hired matchmaker. Wufei's trust fund had listed the professional meddler as one of his options. He hadn't cared about meeting the stipulations of his inheritance, as much as he wanted to honor the wishes of his parents.

Meilan's mother had been the incessant thorn in their sides during the courtship. Like Meilan, Ai-ting had fiercely beautiful eyes and a sharp wit. However Ai-ting's influence had ended soon after the wedding which was when Meilan had blossomed into a creature to be reckoned with herself.

God, how he had loved her.

Her hair had been heavy in his fingers and her lips pushed bruises into his skin. She'd called him her _philosopher_ and threatened to take away his books when he wouldn't get onto the mat to spar with her. Meilan had encouraged him to do well in the police force, and he was quite certain he wouldn't have made it as far as he had without her persistent motivation.

Every softness she'd given to him was reinforced by her inner strength, so when he heard that her school had been locked down after an undisclosed threat, Wufei liked to believe that she had been brave. The students who survived refused to speak about what happened. The gunman had killed himself after shooting exactly one other person.

He liked to think that the price of Meilan's life had saved everyone else.

Except the shooter had taken away the satisfaction of knowing that for certain. Wufei was not allowed to see the evidence taken from the scene of that crime. The few statements from faculty were censored. He'd fought ever restrictive tape and pulled every favor in order to retrieve her body for burial.

At the time, his grief accepted their reasoning. Now that he lived in a city where the Numbers were hidden behind every pulled string, Wufei tried not to think too hard on the doubts he couldn't yet explore.

"I don't know anything about that event. I'm sorry," Heero Yuy had answered honestly. "Although, you are strong for finding a path without her. I would be lost without Sylvia."

"Meilan would have ruled this city with stern kindness. I lack her direction," Wufei had chuckled sadly. "I'm not as strong as you think."

"You _are_ determined. She inspires you to be good," Heero had ducked his head, cheeks burning with passionate insistence. "And that makes all the difference."

***

"I hate you for this," Nichol said. "Just to be clear, I want you to destroy every last piece of evidence connecting Barton to the UESA massacres."

Wufei tilted his head back and took a deep breath of the morning air. His uniform carried a clean scent and the weapon at his waist was polished to best efficiency. "Trowa Barton becomes No Name," he agreed, heavily exhaling. "That's the problem with Federal investigations. The Numbers have influence in the city, but..."

"Shut up, you self-righteous prick." The Russian stomped ahead several paces before pausing to glare at a nearby bush, autumn brown sticks except for a few stubborn, lingering leaves. "You shouldn't have moved without One backing you."

Wufei smiled, mustering more confidence than he felt. "All evil needs is for good people to do nothing."

"He's not as simple as all that," Nichol warned.

"Oh, have you met him?"

"Not personally, but I do know he'll hold you to that promise before he kills us both." Nichol let his shoulders drop, resolved to his fate.

"We do what we do for the people we love," Wufei murmured, wistfully remembering Meilan while he looked up to the thirteenth floor.


	17. Unacceptable Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in the underworld there are some things that are unacceptable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

The room was small and barren, typical of an interrogation setting. The prisoner was restrained to the chair and kept his eyes on the floor. The cuts and bruises around his face were evidence of his capture, but despite this he was grinning. He tested the resolve of the restraints until he heard the rattling buzz of the secured door swing open. He looked down again when the lawyer and the officer entered the room.

The door shut again and the chair was pulled out. The lawyer cleared her throat and opened a folder onto the table, flipping through it and then tapped her nails along the table. He glanced up at her then, and when she stared back at him, cold brown eyes behind circular frames he twitched slightly.

"As your lawyer I am going to recommend you plead guilty." She said softly.

He laughed. "But I'm with the-"

"Mr. Clark, I know you might think you know who I am, but you do not. If you did, you would realize that life in prison is heaven compared to what might have befallen you if the police had not caught you first." She looked back down at the file.

"Whore." He muttered.

She looked over at the officer in the corner and nodded slightly. She stood up and walked to the door.

"You can't say no!" He shouted. "You have to take my case! I'm worth something!"

She turned on her heels and grinned, "No, Mr. Clark, you are not worth anything. Your new court appointed attorney will arrive shortly. Until then this officer will keep you company. You might recognize the name. You butchered his sister last week."

The door opened and she stepped out.

Trant Clark looked over at the officer by the door and chuckled. "Your sister, she tasted sweet. She liked it, really got into everything up until the end." He said casually.

The officer cracked his knuckles and stepped up behind him.

*****

Detective Sally Po greeted the defense attorney with a curious smile. "Ms. Une, not taken on this charity case?"

"Not in this instance." She paused and then added, "You might want to get in there before Mr. Clark dies in police custody. I'd much prefer he suffered in prison."

"Is that so?"

Une nodded and then left the building. The reporters were already swarming on the steps. She made it very clear she was not there to act as Mr. Clark's lawyer and then edged away to the car that was waiting for her.

******

Sally entered the interrogation room and looked over the new bruises covering the prisoner's face. She grinned and pulled up a chair.

"Where's my lawyer," Trant drawled and then spit blood on the table. "Don't talk to cops without a lawyer."

"Listen, you sick piece of vermin, I know you think you have entitlements, but you don't." She watched him as he began to chuckle. "Look at me."

He complied.

She raised her hand up fingers out stretched and then made a sign most teenagers used at heavy metal concerts, sign of the Devil. Trant Clark began to shake.

"No." He said softly.

"Yes," Sally confirmed.

"But…" And then he began to weep.

"Just consider yourself lucky I wasn't the one who collared you." She stood up and walked out of the room. She huffed forward and exchanged glances with her partner on her way to her desk. She shook her head and then she winked at him.

He followed her to her desk and she rubbed her face with her hands as she sat down. She looked up at Wufei and sighed. "I hate this job sometimes. Guys like that…" She shook her head and then changed the subject. "I'm going to a basketball game tonight. You should join me."

"No thanks." He said. "I've got other plans."

Sally nodded. "Stay out of trouble."

He made an odd noise and then turned away, walking back towards the coffee.


	18. Depreciation of Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next generation of potential Numbers are learning to play by their own set of rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

In another life, Lucrezia Noin might have been a professor. She had a knack for seeing the potential in a student and coaxing the seed of promise through the weeds of distraction, insecurity or destitution. Of course, her greatest strength was also a useful tool in destroying the same, whichever Thirteen asked of her, Nine knew she was brilliant. On the other hand, those same relationships were complicated.

Which was why she programmed the elevator to stop on floor nine, even though her laptop indicated that the passengers had signaled for the thirteenth floor. No hesitation. That was the sort of straightforward person Sally Po appreciated. Why Chang Wufei had become the best sort of partner for Sally--in her other life.

She pushed away from the desk and walked into the hall. The elevators were to her left, just past a water fountain where Noin stopped to get a drink. The water was cool against her lips. She briefly pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, careful of the lipstick she wore, although from the unblemished skin it seemed the makeup had worn off several hours before.

When the doors open, she let herself smile when she heard Nichol's groan. "Fuck, damn."

"Nice to see you too, Nichol," Noin crossed her arms, the jacket pulled tight against her shoulder blades. "Three's been looking for you."

The surly man frowned, obviously uncertain if that observation made him particularly happy or not. It kept him quiet, however, and that was the desired effect.

"And if you want to go four floors higher, you have to get through me first," Noin turned to Nichol's companion, the Chinese detective hid his reaction. Was he angry? Amused? Unsettled?

He was certainly young. Well, about the same age as One or Three, but closer to Trowa in height. His clothing was so new she wondered how long ago he'd grown into his shoes, he seemed to still be getting used to his lean, larger muscles.

"I've seen you with Sally," he said, rolling his shoulders with confident indifference. Nichol glanced sideways at the detective then back at Noin as if he expected one or both of them to attack the other.

"She wouldn't want you to just throw your life away," Noin reasoned.

Wufei repressed the level he wanted and stepped back. He met Noin's gaze with a level stare. He shook his head, "Women."

***

"I'll be honest with you." Sally took the champagne flute from Noin and drank from the opposite side. "Alex and Meuller scare me a little."

Noin snatched back her glass and swallowed the last drops while watching the two young initiates. They had shut down an entire airport, Alex having no small skills when it came to manipulating networks and sabotaging firewalls and other safety measures. Mueller had infiltrated the physical offices, cutting off the heads of the CEOs and leaving them on display around their conference table.

"Today, someone new runs that airport. It'll survive," Noin replied. "Things will run more smoothly with Six in charge of the skies."

"Possibly," Sally sounded distracted. Then she added, "Milliardo will make the system better, I'm certain. But what I'm not so sure about is how well Alex and Meuller will take to seeing the business given over to Zechs."

"In the Numbers, those boys are still children. Cut them some slack for their enthusiasm. They'll have to earn their place just like the rest of us."Noin casually saluted the young men as they flashed her cheeky grins and tipped their heads in her direction.

***

Noin answered her phone as Zechs was driving them to the racetrack.

"Hey Boss," Mueller was on the other line.

"Yes?" Noin kept her response short. She glanced as Milliardo who was wearing a comfortably suit. A pale blue. It was new.

"We've got some exciting news." The young man's voice cut in and out, but since the line was clear of static she expected the reason was shortness of breath.

"I can tell that much. Your number has shown up on my ID quite often in the past..." Noin started, then stopped when his voice overlapped hers.

"Alex smells like shit from the work on the farms, absolutely from the butt excrement," Mueller crowed. "But after we got rid of the, you know, evidence, we got to talking. Maybe it was the stuff we were smoking, but I came up with a plan. The sort that will definitely get Thirteen's attention."

"I'm not sure you understand how this works," Noin replied, her tone changing into the voice she used when teaching prospectives the hierarchy of the Numbers. "You're in and what works in your best favor is constant diligence."

"So what if we, nevermind," Mueller chuckled. "You'll find out soon enough."

"I'm sorry," Noin reached out to touch Milliardo's elbow. "Can we turn on the radio?"

"Sure." As he reached for the controls, Noin's phone rang again.

"Luce, are you with Milliardo?" This time it was Sally calling. In the background, she could hear sirens and a male voice confirming a dispatch response.

"Yes, we were on our way to the track."

"You might want to make a change in plans. You remember the Catalonias," Sally said. "Well, their only living heir has been kidnapped. Dermail has released a statement to the public. Apparently, he still considers the girl as family. He's pissed."

"Treize did promise to look after her when she decided to stay." Noin relayed the information to Milliado who put their vehicle into an easy U-turn at the next opportunity.

Noin heard the male voice ask Sally something to which the woman responded, "Another reporter, Wufei. Dermail's already notified the press, so I thought she could help." Sally's voice came through more clearly, "Bring your recorder."

"Got it." Noin was glad she'd chosen to wear flats.

***

When they arrived twenty minutes later, the rescue had already been completed.

The horrible irony of it all was that none of them recognized the young man upon which Dorothy Catalonia was leaning. He took all the questions, complimenting and praising the police who had showed up late. Sally stood next to her Asian partner, both mimicking the other's posture of reserved surprise.

Noin kept her recording device pointed toward the hastily assembled bouquet of television station microphones.

"What Dorothy would like now is to rest and appreciates any further questions to go through her publicist," the young man smiled cheerfully. Noin noticed the subtly protective way he kept one hand around Dorothy's waist. Dorothy herself had a bruise on her cheek and burns along her wrists.

He helped her down the steps that had kept them elevated during the questions. Noin watched as they left to one side, where to her surprise Treize had actually made an appearance.

"I heard you were very brave," Treize tactfully gave the young woman a half bow, but didn't take her hand. Dorothy's fingers were still tightly fixed into the blonde boy's vest.

Noin was allowed closer to their conversation as Treize's men recognized her as Nine.

"She certainly was," The young hero confirmed. "She'd broken one of her kidnapper's fingers. Even if I hadn't shown up when I did, I'm confident Miss Dorothy would have escaped on her own."

"Yes, I heard that you handled the rest of the kidnappers quite thoroughly," Treize studied the younger man's face. "No survivors."

"Sometimes it's best to leave a strong message." The young man gently ran his fingers through Dorothy's hair. She smiled into one cheek.

"And I'm quite certain that message will be received. But by whom?" Treize let them walk by to what seemed like a fleet of tan vehicles full of dark skinned men in sunglasses. Then in a strangely uncharacteristic moment of interest, Treize called after them, "Four."

The boy looked back with the ever-present sunny smile and said, "Yes, she is."

***

"What did you do?" Noin asked when Mueller finally answered his phone. She started to pace the distance of her office twice as quickly.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," he chuckled. "Did you see something interesting today?"

Noin's face became hot. "Dorothy Catalonia was kidnapped, abused, that is unacceptable."

"Yeah, that's horrible. I heard she's fine though. Was rescued even, interesting that."

Noin considered what he said, "You orchestrated this just so..."

"What did you think? That we were interested in the girl?" He laughed. "No, no, you taught us to think much bigger than that. I heard that all the kidnappers were killed."

Noin glared at the phone, only just restraining herself from throwing the dial-tone ringing device against the wall.

***

Noin watched the elevator doors close over Nichol's seasick expression until all she saw was her own knit brow reflected back.

"I've done what I can, Sally," she said. "At some point, you all you can do is let the chicks free to see what they'll become." She stared at the ceiling tiles. "And see what heights they'll aim to achieve."


	19. Resurrected Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilde runs into unexpected company on her day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Hilde hadn't been out to a pub in a long time. She was determined however to spend her day off drinking hard ciders and watching a hockey game with a bowl of pretzels as her only sustenance. So far the trip back to her old neighborhood was successful, and the pub itself remained unchanged right down to the beautiful zodiac stained glass window in front, to the tarot cards neatly shellacked into the tables. Hilde was sitting at the Temperance table that also contained an Eight of Cups card. Never one for symbolism she missed any deeper meanings those card might hold for her as she sipped at her drink and watched glumly as the score remained tied.

Deep into her third cider and fifth bowl of salty pretzels someone decided to sit across from her. She caught the vague form out of the corner of her eye as she popped a pretzel into her mouth and watched two players duke it out on the ice. The man cleared his throat, or at least that was the vague sound. She turned and faced him and then sucked in a deep breath, to which the young man merely gave a raspy and eerie chuckle.

"I guess I'm really bad at this game." She muttered and gulped down her drink. She set it aside and looked the young man over, baby blue eyes darkened by the black baseball cap and high collared shirt shielding her from the sight of what must have been a terrible scar across his throat. "Are you going to kill me?"

He shook his head and rasped out another chuckle.

"Then what?"

He held up three fingers and nodded.

"I'm not sure where he is." She paused and then added, "He's gone a bit off his rocker…more than usual I suppose…ever since he let his boy toy loose."

The young man narrowed his eyes and hit the table with his fist.

Hilde gritted her teeth and then shook her head. "You would have made the same choice, Duo. Don't tell me you wouldn't have. If I had been strapped to that chair and Three had given you a little hint you'd have done the same."

She looked at him and he was visibly angry but then he nodded, laughing, an uncontrolled terrible sound like gravel against glass. She shut her eyes and stood up.

"What do you want me to tell them?" Hilde asked softly.

Duo shook his head.

"I suppose it doesn't matter. She probably already knows you're out and about as it is." She picked up her purse and threw some money on the table. Then she sighed and asked, "Was I ever really working for the other side? Was I only working in the confines of the numbers?"

He grinned and she stepped out of the bar as quickly as she could.

Back inside the bar Duo sat and collected the money from the table shoving it into his pockets. A young woman from across the room stepped up to the table and sat down. Her auburn hair was cut shorter than she liked and she played with the ends before tapping her fingers along the table.

"So what should we do, I thought you wanted to get revenge?" The young woman asked.

Duo shrugged.

"I suppose it doesn't really matter. She's not that important to me. The one I want is the one that got Trowa into this mess in the first place, and Five. I want her head on a platter."

Duo chuckled and nodded. "Ca…th..er…in..e"

"It's still too soon. Don't try to talk. We've been together long enough. I know exactly what you'll say." She stood up and then drove a throwing knife into the table. "Let's go cut into their numbers, shall we?"


	20. 11 to 1 Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relena makes a big mistake and inadvertently gets wheels turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

The personalities that existed inside the body of Josephine Une were having a bad day. The least of their ire being the gun shoved into their back, and the only reason Eleven hadn't ripped the assailant's arms off was because she really couldn't. Someone had put a rather odd idea into the head of Peacecraft's daughter and when Une found out who it was she was going to have a little chat about it.

She walked steadily along as the young woman prodded her along, jamming the muzzle of the Derringer repeatedly into her back. And the bruise from the prodding was likely to be the biggest injury she would sustain from the gun. She had tried politely asking that the girl let her go, and she had tried calmly informing the princess that any harm that came to her would be met with swift justice. Treize knew how to spin a story and a privileged, pampered little girl like Relena Peacecraft could be swallowed whole by the outcome, regardless of what it might be.

Relena was fishing in her pocket and from the distinct click and speed dialing Une could guess who the girl was trying to contact. Une decided that playtime was over. The last thing the OZ needed was for One to start taking revenge because Relena couldn't get over her obsession with him.

Une spun around and grabbed Relena's wrist, twisting slightly so that the gun hit the floor. She then pushed the girl away knocking the cell out of her hands. She stood in contemplation for a second and then quirked an eyebrow as someone on the other end picked up.

She sighed and picked up the cell phone keeping Relena at bay by speaking. "Sorry One." She paused and listened, chuckled softly and stepped over to the Derringer placing it in her pocket. "I understand we have a deal, but unfortunately Miss Peacecraft is quite enamored. We've had to work extra hard with her." She chuckled. "Indeed. Listen, I'm not sure who put it in her head, but the darling girl just tried to kill me. For some reason she wanted to call you about it before she finished the job." She grinned. "Of course."

Une held the phone out to Relena. The girl ran and grabbed for it and then frowned. She tossed the pick device away and into the night. Une found herself watching with mild amusement. The princess stepped over to her with her head down.

"He's…" She sighed and then said, "Can I have my gun back?"

"Absolutely not." Une grabbed her by the collar and then pushed her up against a nearby wall. "I would love to have an in depth discussion about why you would act so suicidally, but-"

"You can't." Relena said with a laugh.

Eleven pressed her harder into the wall. "No. I can't." She stared at the girl and then said, "You know, if you really want your father's attention you might tattle on your brother. I know that as inept as you are, you understand what he's been playing out the last few months."

Relena shut her eyes and nodded. She was released and took a freeing breath. "If you left any bruises on me I could get you into so much trouble."

"You do that." She stared at the girl coldly. "Though might I make a suggestion since you're obsession has clearly told you how he really feels…Why not take that energy and focus it elsewhere."

"Where? No one else interests me."

Eleven chuckled and stepped away. She called out behind her, "There are members of this institution that meet your interests that aren't really taken, and are in great need of your expertise with fashion."

Relena watch her go, pouting. She sighed and ran off to where she had thrown her phone. If she was lucky all the numbers could be retrieved out of it.

*******

"You look unwell."

The mark of her brother's concern hit her ears and felt like daggers. She turned around and faced him. "I've had a bad night."

He grinned. "Is that so?"

"Look, just go off and play with the wolves or whatever that seedy group is called and leave me alone." She rushed up the stairs and then stopped mid-way. She titled her head to the side and then looking down at her brother asked, "Where's Noin?"

Milliardo shrugged and stated, "It isn't as if I have her on a leash."

Relena grinned and continued her walk up the stairs. "Maybe you should." She whispered to herself. "Maybe you should."

*****

Hilde tried not to show her concern when Une walked in late and had that look in her eyes. It was the look Une got on her face when she was putting pieces together and was about to do some major bodily harm.

"Bad day?" Hilde asked softly.

"Tell me again about your encounter with Two. You said you watched him from outside for a moment?"

"Yes, he was talking to a woman-"

"Catherine." Une interrupted softly. "This is why Five needs to clean up her own messes."

"What?"

Lady Une turned to Hilde and shook her head. "Nothing you have to really worry about. Be extra cautious though. I have some calls to make."

*****

"You want me to what?" The annoyance and exasperation in Noin's tone was almost overly dramatic.

"She knows certain things." Milliardo stated softly. "She might know too much. I just want you to spend some time with her. Get friendly, and see if she knows anything really important."

Noin pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "I can't believe you want me to baby sit your sister."

"She can't come to any harm, and I trust you."

"Fine, but you are footing the shopping bill." Nine stated firmly.

"With absolute pleasure."


	21. The Rhetoric of Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elevator finally takes Wufei and Nichol to the 13th floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian
> 
> _inspired from watching episode eight of Gundam Wing... at the start, Wufei always goes in_ too soon.

Nichol pawed at the front of his jacket wiping the clammy sweat from his palms. Put him in front of an Aries 500 with only his wits and Nichol knew he could handle the job, break the safe. He'd been so confident that he'd started to listen to himself when he fancied what number he might start to add to his signature.

Eleven had sounded good, but he'd miscalculated wildly on that number. Crazy didn't mean _push over_. He rubbed his wrist, pulling his arms up to his chest. His stomach twisted briefly as he thought of Three. He hadn't seen the younger man in weeks, which bothered Nichol in more ways than he cared to admit when he thought long on it. Chances were that Nichol was on the last elevator ride of his life.

He chuckled, which earned a sideways look from the dark haired detective. Nichol simply shrugged, "I sure hope something good comes out of this."

"Good?" Wufei repeated. His tone lilted with amused intentionality. The elevator doors opened. Thirteen.

Nichol had expected a hallway, something clean and professional not unlike the floor where Nine interrupted their transportation. Instead, he winced against the unexpected brightness of natural light. The elevator was set in the wall facing a large open room with a full length of windows opposite them.

Directly ahead was a luxurious desk and the figure behind it was sitting in profile. He could have either been looking out the window or at the interlopers. Nichol couldn't be sure. Two guest chairs were near the desk and to one side was another arrangement of comfortable seats intentionally placed around a low table with a bowl of green apples.

Wufei walked steadily forward and Nichol considered riding the elevator down to the lobby, but he wanted to make sure that Wufei confirmed his promise before he choked on too much blood. With a muted groan, Nichol crept forward only somewhat staying in Wufei's shadow.

"Danechka, you've been missed." The man at the desk stood. Still in the dark it was impossible to make out his expression. Nichol could have sworn the ice cold fingers of his uncle's ghost had crept up his spine.

Wufei said, confused. "Excuse me?"

"He means me." Nichol managed to fix his posture, pulling his shoulders up from the beaten slouch that had overcome him in the past few minutes. "And I prefer to go by Danil. Danya if you must." Nichol dismissively waved his hand, half-wondering at his suicidal, cavalier attitude.

"That's right. Danechka is what Mihailov called you. Thirty-Eight would not have survived much past his death either way. OZ, the Numbers, do not tolerate the abuse of children. Just as well that it was his murder that lead to your initiation."

Nichol chose to remain silent as he stood half the distance to the desk. The elevator doors had long since closed cutting off escape. He wondered if this was how Thirteen offered an apology, but decided it didn't matter in any fashion. No one had rescued Danechka, and Nichol didn't expect anyone to rescue him from this situation either.

Thoughtfully, Wufei looked at Nichol during the exchange. Then he turned back to confront the man at the desk. He asked, "So you're the real Thirteen?"

"Treize Kushrenada." He extended his arm to the guest seats then reached down to place his chair where he could sit facing them directly.

"Chang Wufei." The detective took the seat to the left. Nichol stayed standing, and Thirteen didn't make a second offer. Nichol knew his place in this arrangement. Status meant everything to the Numbers, an odd sense of propriety and ritual that saturated the system. It had to originate with this man's expectations and if Nichol wanted a chance to see the day from outside the glass wall he'd need to mind his manners.

"I understand that you're in an alliance of sorts with One," Thirteen put his elbows onto his desk, interlocking his fingers and pressing his thumbs against his bottom lip. In appearance, Treize was soft. His lips were full, his cheeks healthy and his eyes expressive in a smooth, wrinkle-less face. Nichol wouldn't have rested as easily as this man must have for being the mastermind behind the single-largest functioning underground system in the country.

"He has my support," Wufei leaned forward, pushing his feet under the chair as if he might launch from his seat. "But my inspiration isn't as narrow. I'm serving justice, and she tells me that the time to bring down the Numbers is now."

Nichol wanted to scratch his nose, but put his arms behind his back instead. His feet ached where he stood, he'd not worn the most practical shoes the day that Barton exiled him from the apartment. Of course, he could have indulged in some shoplifting, but he had some pride left. He almost laughed, since when did his pride manifest in keeping himself in a pair of impractical and worn-down loafers?

"Message received," Treize smiled. "Now I should tell you that as soon as you crossed that floor a system of infrared lasers initiated. It's on my whim alone that I turn them off and let you leave." His desk was sparsely covered. All Nichol could see was an open laptop, a cell phone and a pewter figurine of an empty, ornate chair.

At those words, Wufei shrugged in a surprisingly casual fashion. "You'd have to kill me now, because I'm going to keep coming back. Time and again. I won't shake off the trail until you and all your associates are convicted of your crimes." He spoke more hastily, "And they are crimes."

Treize considered the detective with a thoughtful raise of his full brows. "Sounds interesting."

Thirteen picked up the phone and murmured a code with a polite volume that did nothing to disguise his private code. He slightly pulled the phone away from his ear and said, "You're free to go. Be sure to do whatever it was you promised Danya to get him to bring you here."

Dismissed, Wufei stood with his casual body language and resonating confidence, but Nichol could see the vibrating tick along the back of the officer's jaw near his ear.

"Oh, and Danya," Treize said cheerfully. Nichol briefly met Thirteen's gaze expecting a reprimand. "Even when you learn the truth about the UESA massacre, I want to hear that you went back to Three after this. And let him get you a better wardrobe."

Nichol didn't relax in the elevator.

Wufei punched his fist into the wall. Neither spoke a word.

***

"Treize, why do you let that boy live?" Eleven asked through the phone, after Treize commanded the staff to resume normal protective protocals when Chang Wufei exited the building.

"It was honorable for him to face me directly," He sighed. "I can now understand what Zechs sees when he looks at One."

"With that pattern, he'll only hate you more for sparing his life."

"Those who are hated must remain strong, Lady." Treize replied, running his fingertips along the edge of the decoration on his desk.

***

Nichol watched Wufei drive away, walked slowly avoiding the mud puddles--when had it rained?--and pondered what he was supposed to do with the rest of his afternoon. Technically, his orders had been to trail the detective. But now? He scratched at his temples and indulged in a low-throated groan of dismay. Thirteen told him to go back to Barton, and, really, he knew that was where he belonged if anywhere. But Trowa had said...

"Found you!" Three spun Nichol around. Reaching through the open fabric of Nichol's jacket, the taller man wrapped his arms around and closer to Nichol's body. Trowa's fingers possessively tangling into the thinner material of the t-shirt against the back.

"Hey." Nichol didn't hug back. He let his eyes survey the closed entrance to the building he'd just exited as if someone might be watching them. Then he let himself watch the person who moved in to nibble Nichol's jaw.

"I heard you'd made your way here. With Wufei. Like I told you to..."

Nichol started, "I thought what you wanted..."

"Watch him. Take him to Treize, yeah." Trowa pulled back grinning then kissed Nichol's nose. "Sometimes it's best not to know all there is to know. Even I don't let myself think about some things most days."

Nichol scoffed, "Really?"

"Really." Trowa frowned briefly but the emotion was overruled with excitement. "I heard what you did for me."

"What?"

"The whole deal with the massacre. The job that _made me_." Trowa let his fingers slip from their vice like grip on Nichol's clothing and settled them more easily on Nichol's hips.

"Oh that," Nichol felt sheepish. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at the sky.

"Sweet of you. To make sure that I'm off the national most wanted list. Sweet, if stupid."

Nichol had enjoyed where the conversation was going, but blanched at the last. "Stupid?"

"Yes, stupid." Trowa smirked at the building then pulling Nichol along so they walked side-by-side, he leaned in. "I _am_ FBI."


	22. Take a Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compartmentalizing is a rare gift. Trowa remembers four things well enough, but the fifth might just kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian
> 
> _I don't know how the FBI works. I just make cool stuff up._

The crumpled body on the floor was shaking. Slender arms stretched over her head and fists beat the stained hardwood. An inhuman noise, the source was her lungs, vibrated to such a shrill level glass should break from the sorrow alone.

He crouched at her side reaching for her shoulder.

"Don't," she warned. Then Catherine twisted part way to fix fierce eyes on him. "I will cut you, if you. Damn it." Her lips separated and she panted in a way that caused her entire upper body to dip and rise in rhythm. Her physical reactions had always been directed by her conscious thought, to see them respond so naturally, instinctively to her pain scared Trowa.

She pushed up enough that she was balanced on one hip, her legs not moving at all. Somewhere, the television still played. The mayor introduced someone. They were giving away the key to the city.

Also, water was pouring into a bucket and building a thick layer of suds.

"Turn it off," she ordered. Trowa shifted his weight uncertain which she meant. "The water." She met his eyes again and for all her threats to hurt him, her anger and sadness was far worse.

He pushed the lever and turned to look at the kitchen floor. Between his footsteps and Cathy's movements, they'd spread the blood in patterns like swirls and exclamation points. It was almost pretty, if Trowa didn't know the source.

"I took your bike," he confessed. "It was easier."

She shook her head, crossing her legs and putting her back straight. "I don't want to know what you had to do." Her voice had been angry and she bit her lip. "Sorry, I appreciate that you came over. I know that was a risk. I don't think I'll ever..."

Catching the visual in his thoughts, Trowa choked up bile and put his hand to his mouth. He turned around, using the edge of the counter to hold himself up.

"Hey, Trowa."

He heard her get up and eventually, she stood pressed against his side. "I'm trying to say thank you."

"You shouldn't have to be. Thanking me." His mouth burned. The taste was vile. He'd managed to remove every piece of the corpse with cool indifference. But the pieces had been Lon, the man who had charmed the family with his frank generosity, who recruited Trowa to Quantico, who was the father of Cathy's unborn baby. The most kind and caring person Trowa could name.

Briefly, Trowa remembered a dirty face with a crumpled cigarette and wondered if the street boy was still alive somewhere in the city.

He wiped at his face. No tears. They never seemed to work like everyone else's. Catherine pressed her nose into his sleeve and he could feel her tears as they soaked through the material. Trowa looked at his hands, stained like the floor.

"Why did they kill him?" she asked.

Trowa thought a moment, his mind folding over thoughts and in the process he calmed again, like he had while efficiently cleaning away the body. If Lon had been... but Cathy didn't need to see that any longer than they could afford to have a murder victim in her apartment.

"Too caring, no. Too much of a threat," Trowa murmured, knowing that he was getting close. "Because he didn't have any leverage."

"He had us. The baby." She moved her hands to cover her stomach. They'd only known for a few days. That was all the knowing they'd had together.

"He wasn't anyone more or less than who he was. Couldn't work undercover." Trowa tilted his head. Then blinking a few times added, "You still have the baby. You need to go somewhere..."

"I'm not having this baby here, but I swear," Cathy stopped, her teeth clenching with a clear sounding click. They were speaking past each other, but with perfect understanding.

"You'll have to go alone, so I can keep them here. I can't know where," Trowa added hastily.

"I'm not going anywhere _you don't know_." Cathy shook her head. "You're going to have to forget, somehow. Just for a while."

Trowa considered, "You know I can, but it's not a perfect..."

"Even if you have to forget _me_. You'll remember when you need to, and I'll be back. Oh, damn, if I won't be back. Keep an eye on Five for me, won't you? Can't have anyone getting to her before I do."

What Cathy hadn't expected was Trowa forgetting he was one of the good guys.

***

Some days, Trowa was pretty certain that his paycheck from the Bureau, sent to a separate account through several names and electronic channeling, meant that he should be doing some sort of work for them. But no packages showed up at his door, no mysterious phone calls asked for Triton Bloom, and most days Trowa did very bad things. He figured the FBI would frown on those things.

At the same time, he had training he couldn't explain. Patterns of troubleshooting measures, weapon skills, and an agility for foot racing that scared Trowa when he ran on instinct. At least, the evidence of regular money proved he had some relationship with the organization officially or otherwise.

So when he told Nichol that he was FBI, it was the truth. But not one that he really understood. Just that they covered his trail and pardoned his sins and the police could never put a finger on him, because an agent always appeared just in time to show evidence that Trowa Barton could _not be Three_. Except being Three was one thing Trowa knew very well.

***

Heero Yuy had been aiming to infiltrate and disarm a political group that trained teens how to use guns, gave them the guns, then recruited them into a classified local militia. Heero might have been one of the teens, except that he'd been clever enough to be placed in one of the high schools that the program didn't target. Later he would learn that the track in his high school was one for higher level soldiers and that Heero's mission had been born from the same program he was seeking to destroy.

It all got very complicated, but at the end of his mission he'd managed to blow up a limo with all of Sylvia Noventa's pacifist brothers inside. Trowa had been there that evening, they'd gone to the same school and Trowa was already aware of his recruitment. The complication became worse when Trowa heard the words _double agent_ screaming into his thoughts, but he didn't recognize the voice and pushed it aside.

Meeting Heero had been a hasty series of events. Pulling the Asian youth away from the flames involved pinning down struggling limbs and Trowa had whispered in his ear, as if calming a lion, "Nothing to be done. We've got to do what we've got to do. And they're dead. And you dying too is stupid."

"I want..."

Trowa had kissed him.

"I don't want..."

"Yeah, that didn't go quite as I imagined." Trowa never knew what didn't work between them. He thought Heero was frightfully handsome and their styles were complimentary, so they became friends instead. Heero going into each job wanting to atone for his mistakes and Trowa making sure that his partner didn't escape by achieving his own death.

Eventually, they called each other by their Numbers. To pretend not to have been accepted into the Program at that point had seemed preposterous.

***

Having a number didn't mean that Trowa could escape having a day job. He worked as an on call sketch artist for the local police station. He sat in a windowless room most of those days and purposefully tilted his head so that his hair blocked away the sight of the drab grey desk and the drab grey walls and the drab grey filing cabinets. When he drew with his drab grey pencil, he only saw things in technicolor.

The attempt to be antisocial didn't have quite the effect for which he'd hoped. He was always being invited to the bar for happy hour and they were of the opinion he had a dry sense of humor.

***

"I have a job for you," Sally would always start her calls with the same phrase.

"Why do you say that? What if I hadn't been the one to answer. They'd make me for an Alliance tool..."

"Why wouldn't you be the one to answer? This is your number," she laughed. They always laughed when he was serious. "Besides, if someone else found out, we'd just have them killed."

Trowa bent over and his head split with a searing pain. He was glad that she couldn't see him. Nichol had, however, and set down his newspaper. Trowa pointed at the chair and frowned. Nichol stayed where he was.

"Trowa?"

"Yes," he hissed. The pain blossomed like a bouquet of flowers were trying to fit in his skull after hatching from their much smaller seeds. Too much. The flowers were all auburn until they were a woman's wavy hair. Who was she?

"Ten o'clock, okay?"

"Okay," he hung up the phone. He'd missed something. Something was missing. And all he knew was that at ten o'clock he was going to be busy doing something else. Nichol stood up and Trowa shook his head. Doing some _one_ else at this rate. Nichol never learned.

***

"Why did you trust me with knowing _that_?" Nichol asked when they were in bed, a long time later. Trowa was surprised the Russian had a voice, he'd been careful but not that careful with Nichol's throat. Since he got Nichol back, Trowa preferred to cover up the scar and not think about bodies cut apart.

"The FBI thing? It's no big deal. Just that they've got me covered," he chuckled. "Like having mafia insurance."

_Don't. I will_ cut _you._

Trowa had been comfortably settled on his stomach, but the sound seemed close enough to be next to their bed. He pushed up on his arms, squinting into the dark.

"Hey. Where did you go?" Nichol reached over, but Trowa swatted his arm away.

"Listening," Trowa grumbled. But Nichol's voice had broken the memory.

"To what?" Nichol was angry too.

"A memory? I don't know." Trowa crushed his teeth together and the sound triggered a mental picture of blood. Blood all over the floor. Blood of someone he loved.

And if he'd tried to block it out by hiding his face in Nichol's neck and diminish the sounds by putting the other man's hands over his ears, it worked for a while.

***

"That's the place." Cathy used the camera lens to zoom in on the darkened window. "I didn't expect to see him at Treize's tower, but that was a good guess on your part."

Duo shrugged. She heard the sound of his jacket sweeping against the leather of the passenger seat.

"He always had a thing for Lon, back in the day. It was kind of cute. I guess I shouldn't be surprised... this guy has a similar look."

Duo was quiet, so Cathy looked back. He made a cutting motion along his neck and Cathy chuckled, "Okay. So you've got something in common with him as well." She looked back at the motionless window. "Fifteen or twenty-two... Trowa's always done his own thing. Then he goes and falls in love. But that's not him, completely. He's slipping. Someone's been manipulating his memory."

Duo pointed at Cathy.

"No, I didn't do _that much_ damage to him. Reports came back to me after he took his number, he was still about fifty percent stable. Someone's experimenting with his ability to compartmentalize."

Duo blew air from his nose. Then he spoke, his voice threatening and low even when that wasn't his intent, "Nichol put the heart back in your tinman. We might have to push our angle through him instead." He paused, then added. "Because, if they've put a _bomb_ in your brother's brain, I bet you everything that you're the trigger.


	23. Division, Subtraction, Multiplication, and Addition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hell is breaking loose and Une tries to piece some of the puzzle together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written by Alithea

Hell had broken loose, and Josephine Une sat in quiet contemplation at her desk twirling a throwing knife between her fingers. There were a lot of games being played and they were taking over the stage in a giant chorus. She was trying to find the real story, but it was lost in the moves and multiple chords. There were too many players, and because of that it was not surprising that Mr. Peacecraft had been assassinated. The city was trembling from the wake of it. The Numbers were short a few members as well.

Six had disappeared. He didn't even stay around to attend the expensive and elaborate funeral. Relena held herself together fairly well, clinging to Nine like a vice, and Une tried not to be surprised by Nine's continued presence. Six probably ordered her to stay close to his sister. Une found herself moving from a defense attorney roll to the roll of family attorney and secret prosecutor. She had done it once before a long time ago recruiting in Five under Thirteen's insistence at the same time.

This was going to be different.

This was a different time.

People were moving in to topple the structure of the Numbers. There was revenge and power plays, and the federal government beginning to gum up the works. She could see it all, but she couldn't see what each group was going to do next. Treize had always been better at that, and it was true that he was likely holding all of the strings and watching his goals become realities.

Une opened her eyes when the door opened. She took the knife in her hand and threw it, imbedding it into a small space on the wall between her framed law degree and a shadow box containing dried roses.

"Impressive shot."

She looked over and saw Hilde. Unable to manage a smile she merely shook her head and said, "I know someone who would make that shot look amateurish."

"Same type of knives found at the murder?"

"Yes, but…" She stood up and walked over to the knife, pulling it out of the wall. "The knives at the scene were not hers. They are meant to look like hers."

"You have a meeting with Thirteen in thirty minutes." Hilde reminded.

Une managed a smile then. "Thank you, lovely."

*****

Noin did not want to admit it, but Relena was spending too much time at the firing range. In fact she was almost getting really good with the little gun of hers. She decided it was time to intervene, because there were just some people who shouldn't be given firearms and the princess was one of them.

"Look, your father was a part of this organization, but he never carried a gun." Noin said softly and approaching Relena slowly on the firing range. "He thought guns were a waste of time and none of his rackets ever sold weapons. He believed in a more complicated type of business. Maybe-"

Relena spun around, tears streaming down her face. She put the gun down and rushed over to where Noin was, wrapping her arms around the woman tightly.

"Will you…Will you teach me about his business?"

Noin sucked in a deep breath and then said, "Yeah, I'll teach you about the business."

"Why did Milliardo leave us all alone?" She cried.

"I…I don't know."

******

"What have you learned?" Treize asked staring out of the window, looking down on the city. He looked perplexed, as if one of his plans had jumped forward too soon.

"We have a number of problems and not enough time or resources to chase them all." Une said softly. "I believe catching Peacecraft's assassin should be our top priority, followed by White Fang's movement into arms, and then there is the pressing matter of the F.B.I.. Agents J and O have been spotted making inquiries." She paused and watched him turn and face her. "And of course, there is that good cop, and Two and Catherine have returned."

"You don't think they killed Peacecraft?"

Une narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "Catherine has a very specific style and her immediate goal is one of revenge."

"Should we give her Five?"

"That's entirely up to you, Mr. Khushrenada." She crossed her arms over her chest.

Treize moved and sat behind his desk. He nodded and Une turned to leave, before she reached the elevator he stopped her.

"Is she a pawn or a knight on this board?" Treize asked.

"I think you know that this isn't a regular chess match. It's nightmare chess. The rules always change, but she's a knight. Catherine shouldn't be underestimated."

******

"I knew if I waited one of you would came to see me." Une said not looking up from her paperwork. "I'll have to remember to rework my internal security."

The figure in the shadows moved forward and took a seat. Moving into the light he grinned at her when she finally met his gaze.

"You gave Hilde a start when you came back." Une said and continued with her paperwork. "She was quite certain you were going to kill her. I'm glad you didn't. It's a bad idea to take loved ones from unstable well trained people."

The young man made a strange noise in his throat that was almost a laugh, but was more of a gurgle of recognition.

"I know it wasn't you and Catherine. Thirteen still has plans for Five, so I can't give her to you." She looked up and removed her glasses.

Two looked at her wide eyed, shocked.

"I'm actually glad you survived." She said softly. "I still have bad days, but the act of putting oneself back together is a long road."

He stood up and nodded solemnly.

Une stood up and walked over to the door. She opened it and watched him leave.

He turned to her and said in a scratchy deep voice, "How bad is it?"

She pulled a throwing knife out of her pocket and handed it to him. "Good luck soldier."


	24. Unrelated Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes even those given a second chance at life need a second chance at living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

The young woman always wore turtle necks, even on hot summer days. The remains of a terrifying past carved on her chest to remind and cause doubt of her own existence. She fought with her own survival from the beginning. There were parts of her that didn't want to be alive at all. But she was, and she wasn't grateful for her salvation and she was bitter about what she felt she owed the people who had saved her.

Her life was in ruins constantly. If she wasn't on the streets she was acting as a snitch or informer. She hated it. She hated doing it, but when she needed money she needed money. The first time she had done it she was probably five. Telling on a young boy running away and the five dollars it earned her allowed her and her mother to eat for the first night in what seemed like forever.

She pulled her knees in close and hugged them tight. As a newspaper blew by her she snatched it up to use as a blanket, already on the street again after a good stay at a shelter and receiving fresh clothing. Her eyes caught on the headlines, the last name bold and brazen in her mind, Une. There was no relation though.

Midii had been teased about it in the foster home after her rescue hadn't magically produced an adoption for her. Part of her hoped that maybe the well noted attorney who shared her last name would come out of no where, snatch her up, and lead her away to a better life. That never happened. It never happened and any dream of it disappeared after the woman was shot for seeing justice done to Midii's captor.

Her eyes shut tight and she stood up. She wandered to a familiar street and called out for spare change. People passing her by without looking up at her and she was always invisible. She caught the sight of a purple fedora and then pixie features she hadn't seen in ages.

"Hilde!" Her voice was weak and scratchy, unheard. She tried again. "Hilde!"

The young woman stopped and recognition set in. She smiled and Midii noted the clothes she was wearing. Everyone was lucky but her. Everyone got a second chance but her. Being saved from a killer was a joke with the sort of life she was now leading.

"Midii?" Hilde looked closer and then flung her arms around the young woman. "Oh wow! I haven't seen you since-"

"Yeah, yeah it's been a while." Midii said softly. She looked at her feet. "You look well."

"I am. I…well I went through the police academy and that didn't quite work out, but now I'm secretary."

"Really?"

"Totally, I work in a law office." Hilde looked the woman over and then tilting her head said, "I'm starving. Wanna grab a bite? Totally my treat."

Midii looked down and bit her lip. She looked up and nodded. "Yeah, sure, any greasy spoon will do."

******

The diner was a neon spectacular that should have been in Vegas, the carpet and interior matched the sentiment. The two young women were seated in an out of the way corner and Midii found herself wondering how far she could stretch this old acquaintance's generosity.

"Order whatever you like." Hilde said. "How's you mom?"

"Dead."

"I'm-"

"Look, Hilde it's the way things are. Some of us are luckier and some of us…" She grimaced and shrugged.

The waitress appeared and saved them further conversation as they ordered. Then the silence came and this was the part Midii hated. She hated that she could take the charity to survive, but couldn't muster a decent thankful gesture to return. She almost didn't want to be grateful. She was deep down. She almost wanted to curse about the pitiful look in Hilde's eyes. She was pitiful. She knew it wouldn't change.

"Midii…" Hilde bit at her lip and then continued, "Look, I could probably get you a job. The pay would suck, but it would be something."

"I…I don't even have a resume." Midii said solidly. She couldn't be saved. Maybe she didn't want to be saved. "Anyway I know lawyers they-"

"You don't know this one, at least not the way I do. She'd help you." Hilde interrupted.

Midii laughed. "You work for a saint?"

"Certainly not." She looked over at the young woman. She was reading something in her that her current job had ingrained. "I'm working for Josephine Une." There was only silence, bitter around the edges in reply, so Hilde continued, "Look, I know you might not want to work for her but-"

"Yeah, yeah it's something, right? Something is better than nothing?" Her tone was aggravated. "That's a lie, Hilde. It isn't better than nothing. Hope just strings you along until something bigger falls from the sky and squashes you like a bug."

Hilde didn't have a reply to that. She understood where it was coming from. She'd lived it, and not as badly as Midii Une, the girl who never got a break, never crawled out of the gutter. Still, Hilde wanted to do something good, and an idea struck her that was almost a mistake.

The food arrived and Midii devoured her meal.

Hilde picked up the check and then said, "Maybe I could get you different work if you aren't comfortable in an office."

"Doing what?"

"What you're good at?" Hilde said and winked, but didn't smile. "I know what you're good at Midii."

********

Une listened to the request and shook her head. "No."

"But-"

"Hilde, lovely, she makes her meager earnings snitching to the police. She'd make a better earning snitching to me, but better offers always come around. I'm sorry, but not that." Une replied softly. She shut her eyes briefly and then said, "I've never been able to find her. I tried after I was released from the hospital."

Hilde blinked and then nodded. "I found her on eleventh and Henderson."

"Thank you." She pulled Hilde close to her and kissed her.

"Isn't there anything-"

Une put a finger on Hilde's lips. "I'll think of something."

******

Midii had curled up under the bridge with a box of leftovers from the diner that she had gotten to last her an entire week. She looked over what remained and picked a piece of ham off soggy toasted bread and ate it. She savored each bite and then shut her eyes, opening them again when she heard the car stop. She took a deep breath. It was probably the cops.

She was right.

"Are you Midii Une?"

She looked over at the woman standing on the slope. The woman kept the flashlight pointed down which was unusual for cops. They liked to terrify by keeping unsuspecting transients blinded.

She nodded and then squeaked out a, "Yes."

"I understand you do good work."

"What?" The voice of the woman was familiar. It tugged at repressed memory, dark places, and sudden shining light. It reminded Midii of salvation.

"Officers McKenzie and Petterson say you're a good source."

"I am." She paused and arched an eyebrow, "Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Sally Po, and I'd like to acquire your services."


	25. Two Winners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iria and Quatre finally meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Family was a complicated matter for Iria Winner. She was the eighteenth girl out of twenty-one siblings, twenty girls and one boy. Her father just wouldn't give up in his quest for a son. She didn't know any of her siblings well. After a short time in the family house it seemed that all the daughters ended up banished to boarding schools. She was no exception, except that she had probably spent more time than the rest in the family house, especially after her two younger sisters were killed in a tragic accident.

There was a slow grapevine of information about her other siblings that filtered softly through letters from her father. They were always brief notes, Michelle is a teacher and married, Rachel is a librarian and married with two kids. She refused to take the subtle hints her father liked to throw at her.

Iria was the black sheep of the family, or at least she had been. Her father had quite noticeably stopped mentioning her younger brother after a time. It was interesting. Interesting to be a black sheep because she wasn't married, and she was quite certain she never would be. She was also a doctor and that seemed to irritate her father. It was only after her mother died that she really understood why.

Her sisters were probably unaware of the things their father had been involved in. Her sisters were ghostly companions, angelic figures raised to such heights in her head she could probably never come close to the sort of perfection she felt her father placed upon them. Her sisters were good girls. Iria wasn't, at least not in the definition that met with approval.

Despite her better reason Iria found herself drawn towards the downtown gym owed and run by members of the Maganac Corp., and it was a telling thing that she even knew who the group was. She stood across the street looking at it from a distance for ten minutes before she actually decided to cross and enter the building.

The men inside ignored her presence. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked around, finally spotting a familiar figure by the boxing ring. Rashid's imposing figure watching with reserved purpose as the two fighters danced around each other. He turned around to face her without her having to even clear her throat for his attention.

"Little Miss." He said in his soft baritone.

She couldn't help but smile. "I'm not exactly little anymore."

"Coming back for workouts?" Rashid asked and then said before she could reply, "The young master will be surprised."

Iria nodded. "I'm just visiting for the time being. My schedule keeps me pretty well tied to the hospital."

He nodded and then looked passed her as someone enter the gym.

"Rashid, Lady Une and Ms. Schbieker are due for a session tonight. You might want to clear this place out early."

The voice of the young man made Iria turn around quickly, and of course there were the familiar names that caught at her ears and made her question her visit. She met the young man's eyes and there weren't any introductions needed. She had always wondered if she would be able to do that with her siblings, just look across a room and know. Here she was never more certain in her life, and she had to fight the overly protective want that grew in her chest to keep him from harm. She understood why her father stopped writing about him.

"Master Quatre, allow me to introduce you to Miss Iria." Rashid said quickly.

He smiled at her and she tried not focus on how that smile reminded her of Treize in a strange way. "A pleasure." He said and stretched out his hand.

She stepped forward and hugged him to her tightly. Admiring the flush on his cheeks when she stepped back, apologizing. "I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped."

"I…I understand." He said softly. "Are you going to be training here again?"

"Doubtful. I'm kept pretty busy at the hospital, and I don't get out this way much."

"Of course," he said. "You're the doctor."

She almost asked him what he meant, but then all the hidden messages presented themselves for her to read. Her brother knew a lot. He had questions for her too, but he wasn't ever going to ask them, not really.

"I'd like to meet you for lunch or something sometime, Quatre." Iria finally said.

"You aren't going to stay for a while longer? I've heard stories about you in that ring," Quatre said quickly.

"I'm…" She fought for an answer that would be accepted. "I'm not sure I should stick around. You have special clients coming in."

He grinned and then said, "I don't think they'd mind if you were here."

Iria shut her eyes and then nodded. "Right, and I do…I'd really like the chance to know you better."

"I think we have a lot in common, Iria."


	26. When the Numbers Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilde's convinced that what's natural could also use some medical attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Iria owned a car, but she mostly used public transportation. The train was only a couple blocks from her home and went right past the hospital. So her normal route was directly from the hospital exit closest to the station and directly home.

That day she'd actually parked in the employee deck of the parking garage. She'd wanted to run some errands and by scribbling the last of her notes, no worse than the damage the rest of the staff had done to the mangled documentation, Iria had earned an extra ten minutes to exit the lot before the shift break rush.

"Miss Winner."

The voice stopped her as Iria pushed open the door from the elevator room. Letting her eyes adjust to the shadows, Iria inadvertently wrinkled her nose against the trapped smell of exhaust. She tightened her grip on the strap of her purse.

"I don't think we've met." The stranger, a young woman in a skirt that blew around her knees, walked closer to Iria. Everything about this person seemed perfectly balanced, refined. She extended her arm. "Hilde Schbeiker."

"Oh, yes." Iria contemplated not taking the hand that was offered. Deciding that being rude would prolong the encounter, Iria shrugged and tried smiling as she limply ran her fingers along the other girl's grip. "We did meet, albeit briefly, and I may have had you at an unfair advantage."

Hilde glanced at the logo of the hospital spray painted on the cinder block. "We've met here."

"I was attending physician on rounds when the Lady brought you in after the incident with the..." Iria reached for the memory. "Bus?"

Hilde chuckled, a disastrously adorable sound like a child might make when tickled, although Hilde had the good sense to cover her lips and hide the smile. "Not literally."

"An apt image, nonetheless," Iria leaned her weight to her far leg. She had places to go. "I'm sorry, I have to..."

"Please." Hilde took a mirroring step. "From what I know of you, my identity... my influence is known to you."

The damp of the dark landscape might have become more humid, Iria began to sweat. The girl knew, somehow she'd learned about Iria's former... about Iria's intentions... about...

"I'm not threatening you." The younger girl put up her white gloved hands fingers spread and in trying to look docile might have been tightening the noose around Iria's neck.

Frustrated, Iria responded with a tremble in her voice she couldn't control, "That's all the Numbers do."

"Well," Hilde tilted her head and smiled taking a different approach. "We threaten and we repay our debts and sometimes we call on or ask for favors."

"Don't you have henchmen for that?" Iria inquired. Then, with impatience, added, "Please tell me why you're troubling me."

"I want you to... be with..." Hilde glanced at the hospital sign again as if searching for a safe place to look. Someone else, a male nurse still wearing his colorful scrubs, opened the door from the elevators and without giving the women more than a passing glance continued to walk along the row of cars.

"What are you trying to say?" Iria whispered.

"I can feel your ghost with her, sometimes, when we're alone. I can tell she is sometimes thinking of someone else." Hilde rubbed her nose. "I thought it might only be Une or, as you know, the other, who had these desires. But those differences are infrequent."

Iria, not knowing how to respond, scoffed, "I don't think that's how it's supposed to work. I'm sorry I don't..."

"I believe in my growing feelings for her." Lifting both hands, Hilde tucked her hair behind her ears. "She loves me. Completely. So much that I don't know who I am that she can think so highly of me. I doubted that she were sane because she could care for... me. But as she becomes more unified, I believe in her feelings for me."

"So why?" Iria heard the door open again and had to step closer to the wall to avoid the small crowd of her coworkers. One of them gave her a half wave and Iria tried smiling in return. She hoped the expression was a smile.

"Her healing, so far, has been natural. I think she might need some medical attention." Hilde made a sweeping motion with her hand. "I have transportation waiting. Do come, Miss Winner. Iria."

***

Iria hated the experience, mostly because Hilde made so many frequent stops and insisted Iria accompany her. Each stop created a greater delay. Time passed. Thirty minutes at a hat shop. Sixty five being fitted for a new dress, which was incredibly fast--except that Hilde had arranged for the entire store to be closed and the full staff retained for their purposes. Eight might have little muscle behind her number, but her influence in the social circles was absolute and frightening. Every moment Iria felt the pressure of Hilde's expectations as clear as words, "Don't disappointment me. If in any way you fail, it will not be from my lack of trying."

Another hour and Iria had a new rinse of a more perfect blonde in her wavy hair. She hardly dared to touch it.

"Magnificent," Hilde beamed. The girl asked, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I'm afraid you're going to kill me," Iria responded. "Are you jealous? Because I haven't been with her... I'm not... we didn't..." Her voice stammered again and Iria hated the higher register of her tones. She wished she commanded more authority in her words, but once they left the hospital, she'd been at the whims of the young Number.

Hilde listened with a perplexed furrow in her dark brow. "I only wanted us to get along."

"I'm afraid you don't know me," Iria replied. She thought of her brother, how much she wanted to, as Hilde expressed it, _get along_ but certain things were not allowed in this world. And the only way to get those things that are _not allowed_ is to steal. Theft wasn't something Iria put beyond the Numbers.

Hilde let out a long breath, then crossed her arms in a relaxed fashion. "Let's go to her then."

***

Iria stood just outside of the door staring at it as if facing the wood of her coffin. Her brow hurt from the fierce tugging of her frown. The sounds just inside were coming closer and then Lady Une opened the door and nothing was between them but a few inches of air.

She hadn't seen Une since... but suddenly it didn't matter. The other woman's eyes flashed and her cheeks sucked in a long, expectant breath. Une spoke, "You smell like Hilde."

All Iria could sense through her nose was the lingering chemicals and conditioner from the salon. Perhaps that was what Une meant. The idea of Hilde balanced between them like an excuse or an invitation.

Iria didn't know what she wanted. She found her chance to escape. Just a few feet to her right, Hilde leaned against the wall waiting to see what the other woman would choose. Une's girl had made this evening possible.

The Lady's eyes never left Iria except to take in the brilliant, dark blue dress which was significantly shorter than anything that Iria had worn in school. Une asked, "Did you come because you wanted to?"

Iria pulled her lower lip between her teeth. That was what he used to say as he held out his hand. Just before circling his arms around her and Iria's heart started to pulse so frantically it had to be visible to anyone who looked for it.

Her choice.

_Damn it_, Iria blinked back tears. She never got anything that she wanted and here Hilde had practically gift wrapped her for this indulgent opportunity.

Iria met Une's fingers halfway.

***

Une didn't keep Iria's hand, which made standing just inside the closed door seem awkward. So Iria studied the artwork on the walls, unframed oil paints with no discernible subject matter in the colors. They must have been expensive. No amateur could craft such levels of elegance into chaos.

"That's how my world looked before these." Une stood next to her and Iria saw the other woman gently lift the wire frames before they settled back on her nose.

"What's your prescription?" Iria asked.

"Psychological," Une chuckled. "My vision is excellent, but Eleven could not focus on the world without the assistance."

"So why are you wearing them now?" Iria asked boldly reaching for the frames. Une looked away, but remained still letting Iria take them from her face. "You do realize that it's when a person who has perfectly fine vision wears these that the world becomes distorted."

"Indeed." Une leaned in as the glasses were pulled away from her face. She kissed Iria as a pointed question soothed with a promise of patience. Iria dropped the glasses on a nearby surface and then used both hands to keep Une's face near her own. She kissed the eyelids of the person she once considered a best friend. It was the only answer that she had.

***

"Next time," Une said in her ear. "I want you to come because you want to."

"I did want to," Iria murmured. Sleepily, she kept Une's arm wrapped around her.

"Hilde taught me something."

Iria tried to hear the words, but she was tired from a long day and the satisfaction of rediscovering a true friend that she didn't want to think about the consequences of her actions just yet. Her car... but there was nothing she could do about that.

"She teaches me about knowing what the person you love needs." Une shifted to her back and Iria rolled with her, keeping her head on Une's shoulder. "I'm not the only person who needs you."

Iria kissed the skin nearest to her lips. She shifted, comfortable in the well warmed bedding. She began to dream.

"And I'm not the only person who you need."


	27. Errant Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A romantic visit to the circus with a goal in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

It was supposed to be a mission. That's what Trowa had said, but as the day progressed at the little carnival being run just before the evening's circus performance he doubted that this was anything but frivolous. Trowa was leaning against him as they strolled the grounds, cuddling the stuffed animals he had won, red balloon tied around his wrist, and Nichol attempted to keep a hold on his popcorn and Trowa's cotton candy.

Nichol was enjoying himself. He didn't want to admit he was having a good time, but he couldn't remember the last time he had been to the circus. His brow furrowed and he wondered if he had ever been at all.

They approached the side show and watched the reptile man prance about in nothing but a loin cloth.

"Maybe you'd look good with scale tattoos," Trowa said and laughed. It was hard to tell if he was kidding or serious.

Nichol decided to ignore the comment. He tilted his head to the side and then finally asked, because he didn't want to be blamed for Three losing focus. "I thought you said we were here for a mission?"

"We are." Trowa said and disentangled himself from Nichol exchanging the stuffed animals for the cotton candy. He stepped towards the stage and watched as the knife thrower came out for a preview. "I'm trying to remember," he said softly when Nichol finally stepped beside him.

"What?"

"Something…No….Someone important." He watched the knife thrower and then waved his hand in disgust at the stage. It wasn't right. He turned and skipped away. "Let's ride the Ferris Wheel again."

Nichol nodded and then looked at his watch. "The show starts soon, we should get our seats."

Trowa pouted and then brightened. "Oh, yes! Lions! I want to see the lions."

He moved forward quickly and threw his arms around Nichol's neck, touching his nose to the other man's and giving an Eskimo kiss before grabbing at Nichol's wrist and dragging him to the entrance of the big yellow tent.

They took their seats and there was a hardly a moment during the show when Trowa wasn't cuddled up against his companion. Nichol kept him from getting too affectionate in public, but there were still some moments that couldn't be dissuaded.

The lion tamer came out and that was where things got interesting. The act was going at the usual pace, but Trowa couldn't keep from squirming in his seat. It wasn't quite right. It wasn't…He turned to Nichol who was eating the popcorn and seemed fascinated by the act, but how could he, it wasn't right?

He stood up which took Nichol by surprise, and he couldn't even manage to yell out. Trowa had left his seat and charged to the stage, taking the lion tamer's place.

"You're doing it wrong," he said to the lion tamer and walled up to one of the lions, staring at it until the lion lay down. "And then you say…Roll over." The lion rolled over.

The crowd applauded.

Trowa walked slowly back to his seat and grabbed Nichol. "We should go."

"What about remembering?"

The young man didn't respond. He just shook his head.

******

Outside of the circus tent Trowa wandered over to the balloons and stole a new one for himself. This one was green with a yellow star on it. He handed it over to Nichol.

"Do you… want it around your wrist?" Nichol asked.

Trowa shook his head. "Let it go, and then we stand here," he paused and leaned into Nichol for support before continuing, "and watch it float up into the sky. And we never know where lands or that's it's ours."

Nichol let the balloon go and after he had watched it for a while he looked down at Trowa. He wrapped his arms around the younger man and hugged him close. Then he kissed him.

"We should get ice cream," Trowa beamed after the kiss. "We can get all the flavors and whipped cream and…I can make you the dish.

"Trowa?"

The younger man had squirmed out of the embrace and was skipping to where the cars were parked. Nichol took a breath and followed him to steal a new car and go back home.


	28. Counting to Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally knows her time is at an end, and Eleven is up to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Sally stood with her back against the wall and watched from a distance as her partner made some of his unofficial rounds. Thin ice was growing under his feet and she wondered if he knew that the closer he thought he was to attaining justice, the closer he was to falling into black icy depths that he might never return from. She shut her eyes and shook her head. She was keenly aware that he couldn't see that far ahead of him.

With little display she moved from the wall and walked back to her apartment. He couldn't see that far, but she could. Sally felt that she saw far too well how things were going, and it didn't help her state of mind knowing that so many of her past mistakes were making appearances. Too many mistakes and the Numbers never looked kindly on mistakes. She wasn't far a way from a nasty end, and she wished to God it didn't feel like a blessing to know it.

Men might show up at her door and drag her away for a meeting with Eleven, and somehow meeting her end by Eleven's hands didn't terrify her. She knew the horrors she would have to endure, but there was a sort of distinct class that would go along with Eleven's brand of justice, especially if her body was found. There was a possibility that Eleven might even allow for that.

She felt odd dwelling on things as she did. It wasn't good. It meant she'd slip up again, make another error. Despite being aware of the mark, of knowing death lurked just around the corner for her she didn't want to die. She wanted to be able to get out of it as free and clear as some of the others she had allowed to live.

Sally took the steps up to her apartment two at a time and steered clear of any dark and flickering hallways.

It could be Cathy who would get to her. Cathy with her quick blades and need for vengeance who would, despite that need, make things quick and very clean. Cathy was very good at that type of thing.

Who else might it be?

She opened the door to her apartment and then locked it behind her. Midii Une was asleep on the couch and half eaten cartoons of leftover Chinese food dotted the coffee table. That girl needed to learn to pick up after herself. Sally walked back into her room and sat on her bed kicking off her boots. She needed to stop brooding and start planning. There were arrangements that needed to be made, because if she was going to die she wasn't going to go gently into that good night. She was going to take some people with her.

She lay down on the bed. She missed having Noin around to take her mind off things. She missed the strange relationship that went along with having Nine in her corner, but that was a thing of the past. Noin was occupied with something new and young, and irritatingly good at catching on to the way business with the Numbers worked. She hated thinking about how well Relena Peacecraft might succeed under Noin's tutelage.

Her ears perked at a sound from the living room. She sat up and took a breath. The world was moving slowly around her. It was all happening too soon.

****

Eleven looked back from the reflection in the mirror. Une felt that if her state of mind were worse it might be possible for her to have a conversation with Eleven, but Eleven was there. Just beyond the veil of sanity Eleven waited and planned. Eleven winked at her and it let Une know that something terrible was going to happen. And whatever that something was was going to set off a chain reaction that would affect the whole of the Numbers.

"Are you alright?"

The voice pulled her from the reflection. She turned her head to look at Hilde standing in the doorway. She then looked back into the mirror and saw only herself.

"I'm fine."

"The tickets are for tonight, aren't they?" Hilde asked. "You wanted to see the new production of Tosca, right?"

Une shook her head. "I gave our tickets away. I thought we could do with a night in."

Hilde grinned. "So you sent her to meet him then?"

"Iria always needs a little push in the right direction, and his Excellency is far too stubborn to realize that he's being obtuse. She has qualities that I lack that would serve him well."

"Somehow I'm not sure Iria wants to serve."

Une smiled. "Oh she doesn't, but you see that doesn't mean she won't. That's all the difference in the matter."

"Wanting to do and being willing to do?" Hilde shook her head.

****

Under the buzz of yellowing florescent lights Sally mulled over the file on her desk. Someone had sunk Barge, and then there was the irritating early implosion of the Factory. Eleven was taking care of things, but this was greater than her normal attention to detail. She tapped at one of the blurry black and white pictures and then looked up. Wufei was looking at her from just outside the door.

She grinned. "I don't suppose I can rekindle your interest in finding out who sunk Barge and why?"

He nodded gravely and then said, "Sunk and blew up. There's hardly anything left of it."

"Just because most of the evidence has been destroyed doesn't mean something can't be found."

"You seem very sure of yourself."

Sally shrugged. "I have a way with these sort or things." She stood up and brushed passed him. Their eyes met briefly and she asked, "Coffee?"

"No."

"Suit yourself." She started to walk off and then pivoted around to look at him and said, "It's going to be awful…the coffee always is…but I think I'd miss it if it were gone."

******

Lady Une was watching people from the small balcony that overlooked the hotel lobby. She was trying to make connections that weren't quite fitting together. There were far too many pieces on the board, and even there in that space. FBI agents asking questions, members of White Fang starting to make moves, the fading shadow of the Alliance, Numbers too sure of their own safety, the police, Catherine Bloom and Duo, the Maganac Corps., and of course there were those who were playing on multiple sides of the board. It was getting messy and when things got messy it meant that something or someone was going to be removed from play.

It would be someone important. It would be someone with influence. The death wouldn't be like the death of Peacecraft. It would cause more ripples, more problems for the remaining players and their pieces on the board. If she could clearly envision the faces of the two chess masters working she might have a better idea. It was easy to think that Treize was one of the major players, but it was also too easy to see how terribly unsatisfactory that answer was. Not to mention unimportant. The opponent, that was the key.

She shut her eyes for a moment and then released a slow breath. Then she opened her eyes and said, "What can I do for you Sally?"

Sally leaned back and rested her elbows on the rail of the balcony. "Something is rotten Denmark."

"I know."

"Why hasn't Eleven seen to me, I wonder?"

Une grinned. "I think you misunderstand the easy forgiveness for your mistakes, Sally."

"Do I?" She felt herself bristling at the thought.

"Yes." Une sidled up a little closer and said, "Being one of the good guys is hard work in this dirty world we live in."

Sally chuckled. "You think yourself a good guy, white knight maybe?"

"No. I know I'm a villain. I'd never pretend otherwise. Unfortunately, Sal, you're the white knight, and we all know what happens to him."

"Who?"

"I don't know." Une whispered. "You and I we aren't allies, but I respect you after a sense. It doesn't matter my warnings because you can already feel it coming. Make arrangements."

Sally nodded. She turned around and looked out into the hotel lobby. "Eight is looking for you."

"No, she's looking for someone else." Une stepped back and walked away.

****

The café was dark and brooding. Sally and Midii were seated in possibly the darkest corner the café had to offer. Midii had eagerly devoured her meal and coffee. Sally had barely touched anything in front of her.

"You aren't going to want to hear this, but we need to have this conversation," Sally said quickly.

Midii blinked and steadied herself.

"If anything happens to me-"

"Don't talk like that."

"If anything happens to me you are to go here." She pulled out a card and watched as the girl hesitated to take it. "Don't leave until he agrees to see you. He'll be stubborn about it, but he'll change his mind. He's a good guy, one of the very few left in the city."

Midii nodded.

Sally smiled. "Good. Thank you."

*****

Eleven woke with a start. She looked over at Hilde next to her and grinned. "You do have to enjoy the time, Lady. Make the most of everyday."

She got out of the bed and quickly dressed herself. She grabbed a few things from her safe and then went outside where a car was already waiting for her. The young man driving was nervous. She didn't bother to try and sooth him.

"You know where we need to go."

"Yes." He said though Eleven hadn't asked a question. "Is this…Is this-"

"This is exactly what we need to be doing at this moment."

"Right."

She grinned.

The car drove at an even speed to the docks. Eleven got out near one of the large cargo ships and shut the door, turning only to say, "Wait here. It won't be long."

The driver nodded.

After a safe distance the car exploded and Eleven shook her head. "Silly boys, it takes exactly twenty minutes for that type of device to trigger."

She walked on a good three miles until she reached a little shack and knocked on the door. When it opened the young man inside stared wide eyed at Eleven. A woman in the back was whistling but she stopped and came forward also blanching at the sight of the guest.

"Eleven." The young man said his voice jagged.

"Yes, let's do get ourselves out of the cold shall we. I have something for you Two."

"Cathy…"

Eleven pushed into the shack and threw down a file. "Your brother isn't right in the head."

Catherine narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. She then nodded and said, "I suppose it takes one to know one."

Eleven laughed. It was the sort of sound that no one took pleasure in hearing. She eventually composed herself and said, "Quite possibly. I know you have plans for Five. I think someone is going to beat you to it and that's unfortunate. She's the only one who can safely turn your brother off."

"Who?"

"I don't know, but that's why I've brought you this." She tapped the file. "These are the suspects. You can do what you want with it."

"Why are you helping me?" Catherine asked with suspicion.

"I think you mistake this gesture for something it's not. Whatever revenge you get for yourself is not going to help you, but it will inevitably help me." She grinned. "Could you possibly call me a cab? It seems that some little boys trying to make themselves big have blown my car up."

Catherine looked about ready to stab Eleven in the back but she caught an unusual gesture from Duo.

Duo nodded at Eleven and grinned.

"Smart boy. I'm glad Eight didn't actually succeed. You do have your moments."

****

Sally smiled when the blade was pushed into her stomach. She had some success of defending herself when the men came out of the shadows. She even got a look at their faces, but in the end there were far too many. She made sure to smile though. She had too, especially when the man who was in charge stepped forward. She almost laughed out loud.

"No more Alliance," he said.

She dropped to her knees and shut her eyes. She couldn't speak, but her last thoughts were clear, "She's going to destroy you when she finds out."

Another blade plunged into her heart and that was it. She collapsed fully.

"Why does she smile?" One of the men asked.

"Because she likes to mock me," the leader said. He looked over at the crew. "Arrange the scene."

*****

Wufei looked over the pile of files and tapes on his coffee table. There was a massive amount of information there. It was all good information. It was the sort of information he had been hoping to find since he had heard of the Numbers. To the side of that was the morning newspaper and a bloody headline screaming up at him.

He felt ill.

He felt so ill.

Someone, who was it he couldn't remember, but someone had told him once that Sally Po could only have been a police officer. It was all she was made up of justice and detecting.

He leaned back into his chair and his cat jumped onto his lap. His mind buzzed and all he wanted was a simple answer, was she really the traitor he thought she was?

He couldn't stand not knowing, but he had information now. He'd start the clean up. He'd start with the police.


	29. Reception of Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Invitations come in a great variety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Alex sprawled in the dining chair. His legs stretched under the table cloth and his neck elongated to an angle so that he could better see the musicians in the corner of the reception hall. "She is hot," he exclaimed.

So much conversation covered over his words, but Mueller heard them. Unlike his partner, Mueller was folded forward, head in hand. The fingers that were unburdened twirled the stem of his empty champagne glass. "I fucking hate canon in D."

"Is that what they're playing?"

"No, Alex. That's what the _bride walked in_..."

"You're still hung up on that?" Alex threw his head back laughing. A woman in a generous skirt moved past him and swiped his cheek with the fabric bundled at her hips. "Move on. Next!" He snapped his fingers as if someone might come to fill his glass, but no one did. It was a civilian gathering. To the general public, Alex and Mueller were college students who never seemed to attend classes, although they were oh-so-clever. If anyone suspected the young men were part of the Numbers criminal organization, they didn't reveal their knowledge.

"So quick to become distracted," Mueller retorted. "Who is it now? The girl on flute? How predictable."

"So many women," Alex nearly purred. "So little _ammo_." His eyes sparkled, as he obviously just refrained from a conspicuous wink.

"I could use a few fireworks myself. That would take my mind off the damn music."

"Twenty minutes then?" Alex sat upright.

"Oh, I sent the signal a while ago," Mueller shrugged. The music crescendoed as the dancing groom spun his mother in a slow circle. A rather pointless spotlight in the well lit room followed the pair as they blew kisses to the guests.

"The shame of being surprised victims at such a tragic event. _Tragedy_ everywhere. No style whatsoever," Mueller moaned.

"We expected to get a little singed," Alex reasoned with a lifted finger. "Risk comes with the business."

***

Nichol noticed the apartment shaking but thought little of it. At first. In the past, a dark mood gave Trowa the stomping power of an elephant. He'd had to save more than one fragile object from tumbling to its demise. This time, however, Nichol found the younger man face down against his pillow.

Warily, Nichol reached for the door-frame ready to balance himself for aftershocks. Nothing came next except the sound of sirens.

"Snooze," Trowa demanded into the pillow. Shifting, Trowa kept his eyes closed. When Nichol came closer, he was hauled down by a yank around his neck. Trowa pulled them closer, Nichol bent over the bed in Trowa's arms. He rasped, "If I can't sleep, no one does."

"I wasn't sleeping," Nichol mildly observed. "Aren't you the least bit curious what that was?"

Trowa smiled in a blissfully not-awake fashion. "Not when you're all I need."

Nichol groaned, less irritated than amused. Trowa twisted his legs to flip Nichol to the other side of the bed--not terribly winded and under the lean man.

"Who is this passive creature?" Trowa put his hands to Nichol's neck and pressed down with his palms.

Nichol grunted, daring to slap at Trowa's wrists. The man let go chuckling. "There you are."

Then the phone rang.

"Three?" Nichol heard and handed the phone to Trowa who watched with one eye, letting the other stay closed. Trowa said nothing, but listened with a disinterested expression. Then he dropped the phone where it buzzed a disconnected signal.

"We should have a wedding," Trowa chirped, his mood shifting just as quickly as he pawed Nichol's face.

"Huh?"

"Seems our terrorists enjoy attending them." Trowa's hands slowed into thoughtful strokes along Nichol's cheeks and jawline. "Or at least they enjoy blowing them up. I do love an explosion."

Nichol relented to the roaming fingers until Trowa scowled. Sighing, Nichol half-heartedly pushed back against Trowa's shoulders. "You know this doesn't actually bother me," he said, quietly.

Trowa replied with a chilly order, "Act for the cameras."

"Hell no," Nichol glanced around the room wondering what device could have survived Trowa's meticulous inspections.

"Aha!" Trowa's crazy grin returned. "We never know who might be watching!"

***

"Were they friends of yours?" Quatre asked when Dorothy returned the paper correspondence to the silver tray Rashid held out to her.

"Nobody. They were no one of any importance," Dorothy let her eyes drift to the corner of the luxurious room.

"Would you like some tea, my lady?" Rashid inquired.

"No, not now." Then belatedly, Dorothy added, "Thank you." She saw Quatre move toward his violin and she sat forward moving her arms before her voice, "Not now, please."

Quatre tilted his head, puzzled. "As you wish." He went back to his desk and refilled the ink for his antique set of fountain pens. He wrote two pages of text, folded, sealed and put away the evidence of his work and then folded his hands together on the again empty space. "Dorothy," he murmured.

"She's not coming back, and now her death is going to be overshadowed by this headline stealing joke. No one cares if a bland bride and her accountant groom were killed." Dorothy snapped, "And don't even tell me that every life is as valuable as the next."

"I didn't know you and Sally were so close." Quatre's comment lingered in the quiet between them.

***

"Should I be worried that you have a secret admirer?" Nichol sniffed the parchment before handing the delivered document to Trowa. It smelled of nothing except, perhaps, wax, but Trowa had insisted they use nothing but unscented candles to light the apartment the week before and his nose might have only pulled the aroma from long suffering, sensory recollection.

Trowa's brow lifted at the pattern of the seal. "I do owe him a favor."

"Who?" Nichol asked leaning against the high back of Trowa's favorite chair. Considering it was the only chair in the room and forbidden to anyone except Trowa, Nichol leaned a lot.

"Your competition." Trowa forced the letter open with his finger and read the pages at an angle that prevented Nichol from deciphering any of the text.

"You like a great deal of things better than me," Nichol snarled. He slapped his hand against the chair and moved to lean against the wall near the drafting table.

"Only a very few," Trowa corrected in a distracted manner, having returned to rereading page one.

As time passed, Nichol tired of standing and slumped to the floor in a slow drag along the wall. To his left was a magazine which he thumbed through reading the advertisements. "So what does it say?" he asked, letting his tone convey adolescent levels of indignation.

"I couldn't tell you."

_Or won't_, Nichol almost added except he saw that Trowa had been silently letting tears track down his cheeks. The tightening of his chest only made Nichol more irritable. He asked, "What is it?"

"I don't know the language," Trowa offered the pages which Nichol took to see the exotic curves and swirls of Middle Eastern characters.

Trowa reached out for Nichol's wrist, "But I'm certain I _should_."

***

"Is our nurse hot?" Alex asked from the far side of the pale blue hospital curtain.

Mueller chuckled as he met the gaze of the woman in scrubs who fussed in proximity of the IV bag. "Oh, she definitely is my type. I don't think she's going to be available for you, pal. Maybe you should buzz reception for another nurse."

"What happened to sharing?" Alex playfully bemoaned.

"He's harmless," Mueller whispered to the blonde-haired woman.

"I'm sure you both are. At least, that's what Treize told me before I took over your case." The woman's eyes were prominent on her face and seemed backlit with mirth.

"Excuse me?" Mueller narrowed his eyes.

"What's happening over there? Mueller?" Alex called over, but Mueller silently watched his medical attendant as she turned her back to make further documentations into the paper file.

The woman turned around. "Oh, you've gone pale. No reason for that. See, Treize gathers that you and your friend are fishing. Blasting holes into the ice, he said, leaving aquatic carcasses everywhere and then patiently dropping the bait into the water. Look at your heart-rate. Calm down, young man." She chuckled. "He's quite interested in seeing what you catch."


	30. The Value of Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heero tries to balance the hope of love with his longstanding suicidal inclinations. Meanwhile, Wufei considers his responsibilities to the honorable choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Upon waking, Heero took inventory of his situation. The taste of blood in his mouth, sore lips, hands tied behind him. He was sitting. No fabric along his neck, but he could still feel the cuffs of his jeans over bare feet. They'd removed his shirt. Both eyes responded, opening to a semi-darkness.

"Why don't you just kill me?" Heero said, his voice flat but with enough volume to reach anyone who was listening.

"We have unfinished business." The voice belonged to Six. Frankly, Heero wasn't surprised. The ploy to separate One from Three had been a catch-22. Trowa had taken off on the motorcycle leading the majority of their pursuers on a chase through the streets. He hadn't wished Heero luck because they knew that it was a sacrifice on both parts to escape the local crime syndicate. So much for taking a vacation. Criminal activity haunted Heero like a bad penny.

"I suppose you want me to thank you for the rescue?" Heero tested his jaw, stretching it out to check the full range of motion. His tongue cleaned away the blood from his teeth.

"What I want?" The voice didn't laugh, but Heero considered it appropriate so he laughed instead. Zechs took himself far too seriously.

A gloved hand lifted Heero's chin giving him his first good look at his _rescuer_. Zechs' eyes were pale blue and shifted to look to one side. The hand dropped when Heero stopped laughing.

"I want to kill you myself, not these local dogs." Zechs paced, his hands behind his back. He wore a long jacket and suit pants.

"You haven't done it." Heero thrust out his neck. "Do I have to give you the knife?"

"She had a gun. _You gave her a gun._" Zechs' words forced themselves with such fury that he spit.

Looking up, Heero saw the high windows of a warehouse. Perhaps the abandoned one that was a few miles out of the city in the direction of their home state. Trowa might look here. If Heero wanted to be rescued, that's who he would consider his best hope.

"You wanted _her_ to shoot you." Zechs' complaint wearied on Heero.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Heero let his head fall forward. He wished Sylvia Noventa had killed him. Her pale face had grown blotchy from crying and more than anything he wanted her pain to go away. He wanted her to be free. He wanted to be forgiven, but if not that... punished. He had killed her family. Which she'd called a _mistake_ when she set the gun on the kitchen table. Breaking into her house had been too easy. Without upgrades, she was still defenseless to anyone with even a fraction of Heero's skills.

He wanted to protect her.

"What is it now?" Zechs paused. Heero found he was laughing again, choked on tears of pain. His side was torn open from the attack. He could feel the laceration even though it was along the back of his side.

"In here!"

The new voice belonged to a woman. It repeated the first call and a light from outside flashed along the windows.

Heero moved his head to the sound of an opening door. Relena Peacecraft with her girlish hairstyle blowing in the outside breeze was flanked by a hoard of masked agents. Zechs was gone. Heero would have been too, except he was still tied to the chair.

"Oh Heero!" Her voice, while wearisome, was after a fashion welcome.

Moreso when he saw the halo of blonde hair that remained just outside the gaping door. Sylvia Noventa had not only spared his life. She had saved it. His debt to her grew exponentially.

He was fated to love her. Forever.

***

"You have another message from that police officer." Sylvia leaned over her bonsai hesitating before making the cut. Her plant was part of a variety she kept in the back porch, but her voice carried clearly through the screen door to where Heero lounged in the pool chair. He wore dark glasses against the sun, but she knew she had his full attention without seeing his eyes.

"No?" She collected the discarded pieces. Throwing them away, she joined Heero. "Understand what you've gotten into. I'm certain you'd expect him to jump at your call."

"You want me back in that fight?" Heero's brows lifted over the frames.

"It's never been about what I want."

His fingers tightened their grip over his knees. "I can't figure you out."

"Part of being a woman." Nudging him to the side, Sylvia kissed him pushing herself and the paper into his hands. "In what sort of place do you want our children to grow up?"

Heero stretched his neck like a cat. "Children? Syl, are you trying to tell me..."

"See! You do only hear what you want."

***

The apartment was nicer than what a city detective should earn. Heero leaned against the wall watching the Chinese man maneuvering the keys for multiple locks on the door. But Wufei Chang had been married, which explained the family-friendly location and her life insurance policy was honest, if ill-comforting, recompense for her loss.

"Where I live isn't secret. That I interact with you isn't confidential information either," Wufei explained. "But I trust this place." He paused, "Thanks for dragging me into your world, by the way."

Heero wasn't sure of the man's sense of humor so he made a grunting noise. Inside he observed quaint, sparse furniture. And depressions in the carpet where items had been moved, no... removed and recently. Four pointed legs like a small table, except with a line between them. A foot petal. A sewing machine?

"Don't mind the cat. Shenlong might get upset I wasn't gone long enough for her to upset the cactus."

"Okay." Heero sat. "I suppose you have me here because of this?" He waved an arm over the coffee table sprawling with files of official papers, some censored with blocks of black marker, photographs, copies of receipts and an open notebook with a scribbled list of names.

"A gift left to me after my partner was murdered." Wufei remained standing, arms crossed, looking down with a furrow between his brow. "Her contingency plan, I suppose."

"An awful burden." Heero rested his head in one hand.

"How so?"

"No one to trust and all of it in your lap. At least she had her affiliations to leverage," answered Heero.

"That's one way of looking at it. All I need are a few good people. The system works. I simply need to work within it with officers who are loyal. Lawyers who can't be bought. A judge who turns away bribes."

Heero laughed. His smile didn't falter. "From this sewage? Those people don't exist."

Taking a seat next to Heero, Wufei picked up the list of names. "Maybe some of them will want to make up for what they've done. A clean start."

"Atonement?" Heero pulled one photograph to the side to see the one underneath. "Possibly, but it puts their lives, the lives of their families, at risk to go against the grain."

"You did it."

Heero grunted, "So I did." He looked at the opposite wall for a moment. Nothing was put up, no artwork, no wedding photographs, but the evidence of holes remained. "I know this man." Heero pointed. "You might be able to turn him. He has a conscience, feels bad after a job and has remarkably thin skin."

Wufei took the polaroid. "One for the good guys."

As they separated the faces, Heero and Wufei moved so quietly that Shenlong emerged from the back room. The men watched her pounce the cactus, then lick her paws from the prickling.


	31. Eleven Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different perspectives on crime scene photos as the search for Sally's killer begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

The color from the crime scene photographs was extraordinarily vivid. The deepness and richness of the blood was captured in an almost artistic manner, and it made Eleven wonder if perhaps Three had been on hand to take them. Other colors stuck out as well, the very blue handle of the throwing knife that wasn't even pretending to be one of Catherine's, the over full book case with dark and varied colored spines sprinkled with blood, but not spattered, and then there was the very pink cover of the mystery novel on the floor. It was all very bright, very childish, and it was here that Eleven's broken mind was able to twist around what others wanted to be seen.

Someone wanted this crime to look carefree.

Someone wanted Five's death to be arbitrarily linked to Peacecraft's.

Someone wanted to silly boys to take the fall for something they didn't do.

Eleven wasn't particularly worried about what would happen to the boys. She felt that Thirteen was being too lenient with them, but perhaps he was right. Perhaps in all their trying to root things out in a haphazard fashion they would indeed point the way to the truth.

She flipped through the photos again and frowned.

There was a lot of effort everywhere at that crime scene to point fingers in every direction imaginable. She found the vague attempt at the suggestion she had committed the crime laughable. Eleven did consider that others would not be laughing.

Nine would do something stupid. She could feel it in her bones. She did not lack sympathy in that direction, after all Nine and Five had been very very close. If someone had tried to or succeeded at-

But the thought stopped there as Eleven felt a sharp pain in her hand and realized she was making too tight a fist with her left hand. Blood pooled at the center and she took a deep breath. She put the pictures down on her desk and stood up. She wondered how Cathy and Two were doing with their list.

*****

Duo stood in a dark corner as Cathy carefully paced about the room. They didn't have much time. They had over taken the small police guard at the door to the crime scene and it wouldn't be long until back up arrived.

Cathy looked like she was dancing. She stopped mid step and thrust out a knife.

"There," she said softly. "That's where they got her."

"They?"

"There's no way it was just one person. I mean unless it was someone like," she took a deep breath and shook her head. It wouldn't have been Trowa. She hoped it wasn't, and if all reports were true then it couldn't have been Trowa. She frowned and bent down to look at the spot where the throwing knife had been.

"What do you see?"

"Someone playing a game." Cathy said softly, anger in her tone. "Someone who thinks he knows all the rules but clearly does not."

****

Lucrezia Noin sat in her office with the lights off. The bare light from the night time traffic filtered into the room through the blinds. She was very still and not looking at the glossy and colorful photos on her desk. There was one she couldn't erase from her mind. It was what she saw as she stared ahead of her, Sally's face, cold, and dead, but smiling. She knew the smile. It was the one Sally used when she was ahead of the game and winning. The image was disturbing, but poignant. It resonated with Noin because it meant Sally knew who had killed her, and knowing it meant that when the person was found out all of Hell would descend upon him.

Noin would be there to help see the culprit beg for mercy.

The door to the office opened and the light that filtered in was blinding for a moment. Noin looked in the doorway and for a moment saw an apparition, and then the features came into focus. It was Relena.

"What's happened?" She asked. She entered the office before Noin could even say anything and picked up a photo. She blinked at the image.

"That's the world we belong to." Noin said stiffly.

Relena nodded and then tilted her head slightly. She focused on Sally's eyes. "You need to look into this closely," Relena whispered.

Noin nodded.

"No," Relena said and placed the photo on the desk. "Much closer than you think."

Noin blinked. "What did you see?"

"Something that will not comfort you."

"Then maybe you should do that first."

****

Eleven cracked her knuckles. They were a little bruised since she had refrained from using any gloves. Her opponent lay sprawled on the floor a kaleidoscope of dark purples and blues that mixed with the deep red from the open splits on his face. She turned on her heels and stepped towards a chair. She sat in it and grinned, crossing her legs.

A young man raced forward with a towel and began to carefully give the shoe on the elevated foot a shine.

She looked over the men in the room and nodded. They made a quick exit taking the body with them. Only the young man was left and he kept his eyes to the ground.

"Do you know anyone from White Fang?" Eleven asked coolly.

"Not really?"

"Seen anyone from the group around?"

"Underlings keep trying to infiltrate our bar but we keep kicking them out."

"I see."

The young man looked up at her, finished with his work.

"If you ever see White Fang members in OZ hot spots again I want you to have your boss call me over."

The young man grinned. "Will do."

"You may go."

The young man zipped off taking the towel with him.

Eleven stood up and paced the room. She stopped when the door reopened.

"Thirteen wants to see you."

"Well, that took him long him enough." She turned and faced the young woman in the doorway. "Eight, there is a young man I want you to keep an eye on."

"Of course."

"And Eight?"

"Yes?"

"Midii?"

Hilde sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "I'll check up on her."

"Good."

The door shut and Eleven shut her eyes. It was time to come out and play again. She felt good to be of use even when everyone seemed hell bent on fixing Une. After all, Une didn't see the world the way she did, in the deepest of colors.


	32. Application of Imaginary Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wufei meets an unexpected officer. Nichol seeks out a translation, but encounters someone even more unpredictable instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Wufei wasn't supposed to be working Sally's case, but a copy of her file was in his top desk drawer and left obvious for anyone to find it. No one looked. Even when he had the photographs and the reports across his desk for hours, no one commented. Wufei waved over one of the other detectives, a quiet man named Hank or Heath.

"What do you make of this splatter report? Does that sound right to you?" Wufei asked, leaning back in his chair. It rocked under the weight of his arm thrown over the back. Wufei's foot lifted from the ground and he swung it casually.

Hank (or Heath) trembled slightly as he glanced over the document with a glazed expression. "I couldn't say, sir."

Wufei snatched the paper back, put both feet on the floor, and shuffled the papers back together. He said angrily, "No, I don't suppose you would."

Everyone's comments had been much the same. At first, they acted as if they couldn't share information with him. Lately, Wufei suspected that no one was actually doing _anything_ at all. Moreover, they hadn't brought in a new partner for him. It was almost as if Sally wasn't gone, that her death had never happened and the circumstances were not a crime.

If they wanted him to quit pursuing them with questions, then he was going to force them to do something about his persistence.

Instead, he seemed to have an invisible bubble of non-interference around his desk. Staring at Sally's empty seat, Wufei muttered, "What a mess, woman. This place is such a mess."

Movement caught his attention. A hush fell over the room.

The opposite wall of glass showed the outer walkway. A crowd of uniforms went past, followed by a large man wearing a tailored suit. Nothing that an ordinary officer could wear. Wufei didn't recognize the man. Behind him was a slender, petite woman with short red hair. Her blouse was neatly tucked into the belted pants that were cut very slender to her dainty ankles. She had a black notebook clutched to her chest and seemed to be very intent on the instructions the big man was giving. More suits followed and then they had passed the limits of Wufei's site.

"Who was that?"

Wufei overheard more muted chatter as every detective started speaking at once.

"Inspector Acht, you don't want to be on his bad side." "Everyone answers to him and he answers to no one."

Wufei let his head sink into his hand. His gaze drifted to the barely visible blue sky outside the window blinds of the ceiling-level, narrow windows. Grabbing his coat, Wufei stood up, put Sally's file back into his drawer and left the office.

***

Once outside, Wufei sat on the concrete ledge over the front stairs. In an orderly fashion, traffic stopped and went as the signals changed. Good citizens who obeyed the rules. Little knowing that underneath the surface of their society was a larger organization winding its way into every government and legal institution. Wufei tilted his head back and inhaled an unexpected breath of smoke.

He waved his hand in front of his face, blinking a few times before seeing Acht's assistant sneaking a cigarette in the shadows a few feet away.

"Hey," he called out.

She looked up and half-smiled, taking another smoke. "You'd smoke too if you had to work anywhere near that guy." She blew again.

Wufei moved to be out of the remains. Hands in his pockets, he walked over to her with increased curiosity. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"Better question: do you know who I am?" she grinned. Her lips were pink and shined as if the effect had taken considerable effort. She tucked her hair behind her ears and watched him with impatient green eyes.

Scowling, Wufei replied, "I asked first."

She waited until she'd finished the cigarette, then snuffed it under her foot. She wore a rather dainty, lime-green shoe with a bow over her toes. "Mariemaia. Mariemaia Kushrenada."

"And you work for Inspector Acht?" Wufei narrowed his eyes.

"Not for. _Near_," she corrected. "I've been working a program in his division. But I want to be a detective."

"A detective?" Wufei considered. "Kushrenda, you say? I didn't think he needed any more influence in the police force."

Mariemaia laughed. "Oh, _that man_ does what he can to keep me out of the force. I just keep finding my way back in. I think it's my talent to routinely escape his intentions for me."

"Are you absolutely certain of that?" Wufei picked up her discarded cigarette and looked at it with disgust. "_That man_ seems to let very little escape his influence."

Mariemaia crossed her arms. "I don't like the way that you talk to me."

Wufei laughed to himself. He put the trash into the nearest outdoor receptacle and went back to his desk to do what good he could with the rest of the day.

***

Nichol had done a few stupid things in his life. Some of them had been reckless with the motivation of _nothing-to-lose_ when his life on the street was no life at all and anything he might gain from the venture was better than where he had been. This time was different. This time he ran his fingers through sweat-damp curls and realized he was possibly going to lose a great deal.

The elevator opened to a small landing and Nichol stepped forward with a bravado he didn't really feel. He turned to the big man and said, "I want to talk to Dorothy."

"No, I'm pretty sure you don't." A smaller man sat in an old-fashion school desk to one side. He wore a small red cap and his sunglasses slid down his nose, but not enough that Nichol could get a good look at the other man's expression.

"I don't?" Nichol grumbled. His fist tightened around the papers that he held, carefully reconstructed copies of a message that had been sent to Trowa.

"Nope, you want to talk to the Master."

"Who?" Nichol was sincerely puzzled.

"You're lucky Dorothy isn't here. She might get the wrong idea." the man said cheerfully. "You don't want Dorothy to get the wrong idea, no matter how much she might like Three now... that might become impossible if she had any notion..."

"Master Quatre..." The big man interjected.

Nichol turned back to see the door opening with a brilliant light surrounding the form of a slender blond man. Nichol squinted but was unable to see the other man's face. He might be in more trouble than he expected.

"Nichol!" Quatre said as if pleased. "Would you like some tea?""

"Sure." Nichol glanced between the two men, but neither of them stopped his entry. The one with the glasses even tilted his chin as if to say _Hurry up, then._

Inside, everything was brilliantly white as if nothing every had, could or would tarnish the walls or the carpet, a sort of heavenly imitation. Although, Nichol could hardly imagine anything more pure. It seemed wrong.

"Please, sit." Quatre pulled out a perfectly polished wooden chair for Nichol, then began to serve tea. "I suspect you're here because Trowa couldn't read the message."

"It's from you?" Nichol said, startled. He'd suspected Dorothy might know where the correspondence had come from, but he had not considered her blonde companion. To have asked Dorothy directly... that might have been very bad.

"I can tell that you know what it means to know that it came from me." Quatre pulled out his own seat and lifted his mug to his nose, breathing in the aroma before tasting the beverage.

Nichol left his hands in his lap. The tea stilled so that he could almost see his own reflection in the liquid, but he didn't lift the cup.

"You must love him very much to risk yourself a second time." Quatre drank again. The heat didn't seem unpleasant on his tongue. Instead, the younger man smiled in a friendly fashion. "He needs someone like you, but that means you must not value yourself so lightly. He's already lost Catherine, and to have you so recklessly..."

"That name," Nichol interrupted. His face flushed with embarrassment, but he'd not had an opportunity to speak with anyone who might have known Trowa before. Or so well. He swallowed, trying to control another feeling that made his fingers clench into fists.

"Catherine?" Quatre set down his mug, mostly empty except for the pattern of leaves in the bottom. "She is his sister who was gone for several years. But she's not someone that Trowa remembers."

Nichol shook his head, "He's mentioned her. Said her name."

Quatre's hand shook. Nichol almost didn't notice except that the other man has still been touching the mug and it rattled against the dish. Quatre's blue eyes waited until Nichol's gaze returned to them. The blonde man spoke, "Something very bad could happen if Trowa remembered her. It's for his best that memory is forgotten."

"For now?" Nichol nodded as if he understood.

"Forever." Quatre leaned back in his seat and suddenly appeared very weary. "He's become a different person since that time. Not a person he would be very proud of, but I understand his sacrifice. He meant to keep her safe."

"Catherine?"

"No, his niece."

"Oh." Nichol reached for the tea then, wanting something wet in his mouth. The liquid burnt his tongue. Nichol winced, but managed not to spit in front of his host. He set the mug down again, wondering how Quatre had drank his so quickly.

"He talked about you sometimes," Quatre said with a mischievous lilt in his tone. "Back when he had his full memory, he had somewhat of a crush on you."

"Me?" Nichol's brow tightened in puzzlement.

"Of course, his memory was terrifyingly good before the situation with Cathy and his niece."

"And what about you?" Nichol asked, lifting the papers that had been on his lap. He set them on the table between them.

"I never got to know him as well as I might have liked." The other man sighed heavily. "But you've no reason to worry. I care for him too much to be a part of his life now. Besides, I have Dorothy to watch out for."

"Good luck with that," Nichol said. He waited to see if Quatre recognized the older man's humor or if he'd irreversibly crossed a line.

"She is something," Quatre grinned. "Needless to say, you need my help with the interpretation."

"If you don't mind," Nichol pushed the papers to Quatre's side of the table.

He didn't see the movement. He didn't have time to shout. Nichol felt the displacement of air before he noticed the blade between his first and second fingers. The sharp edge pressed into his skin, but didn't break through.

Nichol's gaze jumped to Quatre's smirking face, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"Not so close, Danya," Quatre scolded. "Don't imagine that we're friends, you and I. This favor you need is only free the one time because of my fondness for Trowa Barton. But after this moment, I expect _courtesy_..."

Nichol didn't move his hand. He waited for the blade to be drawn back. The metal disappeared so quickly it might never have been a threat.

"I think you owed Trowa a proper translation the first time, if you _knew_," Nichol snapped, rubbing at his fingers. His temper agitated, he spoke his mind.

Quatre's smirk was replaced with an amused chuckle. "You're probably right. I won't tease him again." Quatre found a pen and began to write in the margins next to the copied text.

Nichol frowned into the corners of the impossibly white room. Something prickled in his thoughts, even as Quatre tapped the paper indicating he was finished.

The ink scrawl read, _Send over your pet, I have a message for him._

"Was that your message?" Nichol said, shortly with staccato emphasis for each word. "To intimidate me?"

Quatre waved his hand in a dismissive motion and shook his head, "Not at all. The warning was free. The message you earned is this: Cathy Bloom is back in town. She's going to be working the same case as Trowa, and it'd be best if you made sure the two of them did not meet," he paused. "It could go very badly for Trowa."

Nichol ached from the tension in his muscles. The Numbers weren't the world he wanted to be part of anymore. Everything had become much more dangerous than he'd even imagined. Or perhaps it had only started when he'd come to care for someone, more than himself.

"We can't have that," Nichol said decisively. Then he added, "Thank you."

Quatre stood motioning for Nichol to freely leave. Nichol started to walk away when he heard Quatre add, "Not the sort to read tea leaves?"

"Don't know how," Nichol half turned.

"I can," Quatre smiled sunnily. "Yours say that you have a bright future."

"Oh do they," Nichol chuckled dryly. "And yours?"

"Success and prosperity."

"I bet," Nichol replied. Then he gave a cheeky wave. He might hate the kid, but at least he'd gotten results for once.

He might have felt better about it overall if Trowa had been at their apartment upon Nichol's return. Instead he found a note speared into the wall by a fork.

_New job. Be back eventually._

Nichol swore loud enough for the entire complex to hear.


	33. Eleven and Six and Thirteen and Eight and Nine and …

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven is make more appearances than normal and Iria and Hilde find a clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Hilde and Iria had walked in the door together. Iria had made an attempt to dislike Hilde that lasted about two days before she realized she just couldn't be anything but charmed by the girl, and her brother hadn't helped matters. He had a way of talking Hilde up without actually overly praising her.

The women stopped just inside the door and realized they were looking at Eleven who was grinning. Iria took a deep breath, but Hilde took her hand and squeezed it. She had a feeling something was going on. Eleven didn't just appear for social visits and fun, and her appearances had been a little more frequent in the past few weeks. The battle between the Lady and Eleven had become the battle between Josephine Une and Eleven. Eleven never liked losing, not ever.

"I haven't seen you in ages, doctor." Eleven said and then added, "Well ladies come all the way in."

Hilde reached out and shut the door. Iria broke away from her and stepped over to Eleven. She stared into her eyes and shook her head.

"Do you keep thinking you'll find her in there?" Eleven asked and moved to sit on the couch. "She can't be involved in the things I'm doing. It's really for the best."

"Is it?" Iria felt her voice crack.

"Jo wanted to see Iria," Hilde said.

Eleven nodded. "Oh I know. I wanted to see her too." She patted the seat next to her on the couch and chuckled when the two women took seats on the loveseat opposite her. "Here's the deal, and then I'll go so you three can have your little fun. I'm not exactly taking over. I'm not sure that's even possible or I already would have by now. No, the thing is that Jo doesn't see things the way that I do, and there are things going on in the Numbers that needs a certain level of inspection that Jo can't twist her mind around."

Iria nodded. "You mean the boys?"

"No." Eleven said. "Not the boys, I'll take care of them after His Excellency has no further use for them. I see he let you in on that. Clever of him. I suppose," she chuckled, "I need to be kept an eye on."

"Thirteen doesn't want to," Hilde took a breath and then continued, "lose you."

"Well, lose Jo. Let's not kid ourselves." Eleven replied. "The problem here is Sally's death. Five made a lot of mistakes, but she was necessary for Thirteen's plans. Five's death is problematic because there is no way she didn't see it coming, and there's no way that Numbers are not going to feel the crux of her revenge from beyond the grave." She paused and looked at the way Iria's fist had tightened. "Jo's so greedy always keeping you to herself, doctor. I digress…I have some people working down a list of problem cases that could be suspects, but aren't really."

"Why?" Hilde and Iria asked at the same time.

"Because, even though I haven't any evidence, I'm pretty sure I know who did it. I just need to make sure when I take his head I have proof." She shut her eyes. "I wanted to see you Iria, because I would like to have you try and work out some of this." She reached over to the coffee table and picked up an envelope.

"What is it?" Iria took the envelope.

"A stupid experiment gone horribly wrong," Eleven said coldly. "Five's biggest mistake. I'm hoping you can figure out how to…turn it off successfully."

"Successfully?"

"I've been asked by a certain person to save what I can of Three." Eleven titled her head to the side and added, "It's pure affection. I'm not beyond understanding that. Am I, Hilde?"

Hilde shook her head.

Iria arched an eyebrow. "Your murder suspect…this isn't just duty for you is it?"

"There are things you don't know about precious and sane Jo," Eleven replied. "She never forgets a slight, especially when it's directed towards something she…I suppose in this case…Covets. Yes, covets is the right word, or maybe coveted." She trailed off lost for a moment. She bit at her bottom lip at some memory and then adjusted the glasses on her face. "Will you help?"

Iria nodded. "Hilde, help Eleven with the glasses."

"I think, despite yourself, doctor," Eleven said softly, "you love Jo more than you want to." She sighed and took the glasses off her face. She put a hand over her eyes and leaned back into the couch.

****

The black eye was unacceptable and as Trieze watched his mother apply an icepack to Une's face he felt a twitch of concern. His concern was that his lady had not fought back. She'd trained very hard and could take down a champion boxer if she had a mind to. That she did not thoroughly thrash her attacker was boggling, except that- And he sucked in a deep breath at a thought he wasn't sure what to do with.

"Josephine," he began, "you need to tell me who did this to you. I will not tolerate mistreatment of anyone."

She smiled and took firm hold of the icepack. She shut her other eye and shook her head.

Treize turned to his mother and said, "Let me…Let me talk to her alone."

His mother nodded and left the room. He drew himself closer to Une and took her hand.

"It was my fight," Josephine said softly. "I lost. Let me keep the little honor I have."

"You picked the fight?"

"Not in so many words." She shook her head. "I promise I'll learn to read people better in the future."

Trieze's eyes narrowed. He had a feeling and no proof. He needed Milardo and Une to get along, at least tolerably. She was not going to say. He tried to think what she could have been doing, and then without much ceremony Lucrezia Noin flitted into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of soda, waved for courtesy's sake lingering a little too long on the icepack and then ran off. He nodded.

"You like her, don't you?" Treize asked.

"Pure potential there," Une replied and crossed her free arm over her waist.

"Josephine?"

She nodded. "I do."

"There is a proper way to defend a lady's honor," he said.

"Even if she doesn't want defending?"

"Yes." He reached out to take the icepack and she let him have it. The swelling was going down already. She'd have the black eye for a while though. "Lady, love whoever you like, but make sure if things were reversed that love would fight for you as well."

She nodded.

"Keep the ice on it. It's time for Milardo and I to have some fencing practice."

Josephine Une shook her head.

****

Iria waved Hilde into her office, and the door was quickly shut. She spread out the papers from the file that had been given to her and sighed.

"I may have something."

"About how to fix Three?" Hilde asked taking a seat.

Iria looked up and shook her head. "No. I'm not even sure how an untrained Number could get something that deeply buried and protected. I mean unless she had help."

"What kind of help?"

"Someone redoubling the efforts who wasn't aware of what had already been done." She put her hand to her forehead. "Perhaps even a very traumatic event."

"Sally had nearly completed medical school. She wasn't that untrained."

Iria waved her hand to dismiss the comment. "It wouldn't account for these results." She sat back and sighed. "I need more time with these to see if I can come up with anything else, but that's not what I wanted to tell you. It's about Eleven."

"Okay."

"This experiment, if done properly, could get rid of Eleven." She took a breath and took in Hilde's expression.

Hilde seemed reluctant to embrace the news. "I'm not sure-"

"I said… if." Iria stacked up the papers and put them back into the file. "I'm not qualified to do it, and I'm not even sure Treize would allow it. Not right now anyway."

"You talked to him?" Her tone implied envy, and perhaps she was envious.

Iria stood up and walked over to where Hilde was sitting. She placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Think. Think very carefully. It can't be you. It has to be me. We're all caught up in the game now. You have the number, I have his confidence in some respects. We want the same thing."

"Do we?"

Iria shrugged. "I thought you, Jo, and I could rent a spacious number in the Mediterranean and live happily ever after."

Hilde chuckled.

"The fairytale ending is good to hang on to, even if we only get part of it." She paused and stared off for a moment before adding, "And even if we meet a terrible end there can be that dream…that something golden making us smile as we die."

Hilde sighed and shook her head. She shut her eyes and then said, "Sally…Five…She was smiling."

Iria blinked. "What?" She scrambled back to her file and tore through the paper work.

"Sally was smiling when she died."

Iria stopped and looked up at Hilde. "I need copies of the crime scene photos."

****

"Take away a lover and the lover will fight back," Eleven said in an almost chipper voice. She looked at the man shackled to the wall and then stepped forward with her scalpel. She used it to etch a number into his chest and his scream was muffled by the duct tape over his mouth.

"Is this the number?" Eleven asked and made a smaller etching on the man's forehead. "I can do this for a long time and I have two of your buddies as back up. So tell me," she started again, slower, on the right side of his neck. "Is this the number?"

The nodding was frantic.

"See how easy it is when you cooperate." She took the scalpel and ran it across his neck. The body convulsed along the wall as it died. Eleven went to the door and knocked briefly, a little slat slid open. "Bring in the next one please. Take the one on the wall and leave him where his White Fang friends can find him."

The slat shut.

"Traitors never have any real loyalty Six," Une said softly. "And when I have more proof I am going to make sure she has the first crack at you. I really want to know if she has the strength to stand up for her love's honor."


	34. Personal Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspector Acht's arrival to the city raises a number of questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

"Lovely day to you, gorgeous. Can I interest you in a little _Trowa Barton_." The man in question leaned against the closed doorway. He pressed the bell again.

The woman who answered had been baking. Her fingers still had flour on them. The entire house smelled like cookies.

Trowa grinned, "I remember you now. I remember when Heero first met you..." The words were replaced by a deep-throated purr. "He shouldn't just _let you_ answer the door."

Sylvia Noventa blinked a few times then moved her neck so the blond curled tips slid behind her shoulders. "He won't be happy to see you. But if he let you get this far up the yard, you must be a friend."

"Life or death situations," Trowa pondered. "That's what I came to talk about."

"I'll get him," Sylvia agreed. "You stay here."

***

They let him into the front room where he fell on the couch as if he'd not slept for days. One arm and leg barely stayed on the cushions as he dropped, belly down, with his face pressed into the pillow.

Heero motioned that he was going to sit. The windows were open and the house smelled fresh, even for the dark spot on their cream-colored furniture.

"Where's Nichol?" Heero asked.

"Who?" came Trowa's muffled response.

"Your boyfriend."

Trowa pushed his head to one side and peered into the livingroom as if it were dark and not clearly lit by the afternoon sunshine. "A boyfriend would be nice," he said at last.

"I don't understand," Sylvia started, leaning forward trying to catch Trowa's words thinking she had heard wrong.

"He's like this," Heero relaxed into his seat and reached for his chilled beer. "It's normal."

"Don't be cold," Sylvia chided. "You let him in. You call him your friend."

"I like her." Trowa lifted his arm and limply pointed. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm working a job. Sally's."

Heero raised his eyebrows. "So what do _you_ know?"

"Nothing yet, just started today," Trowa muttered, irritated. "I was at the station earlier, and that's what made me think of you. Inspector Acht is in the city."

"That's never good." Heero drank again.

"Nope," Trowa agreed. "No good for _you_ at all. His standing orders haven't changed."

"What are those?" Sylvia reached across the table between them and put her hand over Heero's.

"The absolute destruction of the number designated One." Heero met her steady gaze.

"That's not good," she agreed.

"You are a very smart woman." Trowa twisted and sat up as if he'd never flopped like a limp fish in the first place. His posture nearly perfect except for the tilt to his head. "And your man is a smart boy. Stay safe, Heero."

Trowa stood then, unfolding to his slouched height and stared at his empty hand as if waiting for something to appear there.

"Trowa," Heero stood also, with Sylvia, still holding her hand. "Thank you."

"Aw shucks," Trowa winked mischievously, shaking loose from his confusion. "Nothing you wouldn't do for me."

"Some advice, Trowa?"

"What?"

"Find Nichol before you do anything else." Heero put his arm around Sylvia, appreciating her presence. "You need your compass."

"Compass," Trowa pondered. "I like that. Compass. I should get one of those."

They watched Trowa break into a carefree run as he disappeared down the lawn. Sylvia put her head on Heero's shoulder. She asked, "Will he be okay, you think?"

"Possibly, he's made more friends than not," Heero considered. "But he's in danger of the sledgehammer just like the rest of us."

"What are we going to do about your problem?" Sylvia asked, glancing around at the home they'd made together.

"About that..." Heero pulled her to the side. "I have an idea."

***

Wufei's desk phone rang. He glanced at it idly wondering who in the world could be calling him. He had no cases. Citizen reports were are filtered out at the lower levels. He let it ring a few more times.

"Are you going to answer that?" Mariemaia appeared from behind his computer monitor. She leaned against the desk, wearing a professional looking lime green skirt and pink jacket. Wufei almost expected her to be chewing watermelon gum to round off her odd school-girl color choices. "Who do you think it is?"

"They can leave a message." Wufei rested his head in his hand waiting to see why Mariemaia had come to visit him.

"The Inspector has moved on to another building," she said. "I excused myself. Thought I'd see where the detectives hang out."

"Because you want to be one," Wufei remembered.

"Because I want to be one," she repeated.

He decided to test her, "What do you know about the Sally Po case?"

"Who?" She raised one brow.

"One of our detectives who was found murdered. One of our detectives." Wufei pushed a few loose wisps of hair back from his face. At last, he added, "She was my partner."

"Then you would know better than me," Mariemaia replied. She stood up straight and asked, "May I sit?"

"Okay." Wufei noticed that no one even gave them a second glance as if the brightly colored girl belonged in their midst. Or perhaps they were still avoiding the Wufei bubble.

"Why do you ask me?"

"Because I think your father, and yes, I do know who he is," Wufei said hurriedly. "I think he was behind it."

"Impossible." Mariemaia had been listening across the desk from where she'd taken Sally's empty seat. "My father..."

"Is a crook," Wufei said, coolly. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "What? You didn't know?"

"Listen." She put a minty green fingernail down on his pile of paperwork. "My father might be a bastard, but he doesn't _kill_ people."

Wufei scoffed, "Maybe not himself. But he makes sure it gets done."

"And why would he kill your partner?" Mariemaia asked.

"Because she was one of his Numbers. It's his organized crime..."

"That makes no sense," Mariemaia reasoned, taking back her finger and putting her hands like fists onto Sally's empty desk top. She stared to one side, thinking hard. Her short strawberry-red hair swung free from behind her ears and stuck to her cheeks.

"How so?" Wufei challenged.

"Why would he kill one of his own people?"

"Why not?" Wufei grumbled. "They're all criminals."

"You're..." Mariemaia sighed. "You're a lot like him, you know? But he's smarter than you if you haven't bothered to ask the big question."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me what that is?" Wufei masked his intrigue with gruffness.

"Why? Why kill her... if she was one of his?"

***

"Stop, stop," Nichol commanded the cab driver. He threw large bills into the front seat and pushed open the door to stumble into the midday sidewalk traffic. He'd been up one street and down the next keeping his eyes peeled to find Trowa. He hadn't trusted calling anyone and in the end, having no idea where to find his... Nichol shook his head and stood on his toes to try to get another glimpse of the person he'd been searching for.

"Boyfriend."

Nichol spun around and Trowa watched him casually, thumbs hooked in his pockets.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." Nichol fought the relief in his chest and smoothed back the hair at his temples.

"That's what Heero called you. My boyfriend." Trowa held out his hand.

"You were with Heero?" Nichol asked. "Was he the one who had a job for you?"

Trowa wiggled his fingers until Nichol submitted to holding hands. "Come with me," Trowa said, leading Nichol back the other direction.

"Was it Heero?" Nichol asked again. If Heero had called, maybe this mission wasn't the one that Quatre had warned him about. The one that was dangerous for Trowa to be part of. Instead of answering, Trowa just pulled Nichol along. The grip on Nichol's hand keeping them from being separated. He stopped as abruptly, causing Nichol to crash into the taller man's shoulder.

Trowa grinned, "What do you see?"

"The Airfield Museum," Nichol read the sign.

"Yup, owned by the airport," Trowa confirmed. "It's rather boring. They don't even have any planes hanging from the ceiling. I know. I've been inside."

"Isn't the airport territory..." Nichol stopped.

"Yeah, Six," Trowa whispered into Nichol's ear.

"Then who's that?" Nichol shoved them both back so that the crowd was between them and the men that were coming down the museum steps.

"Milliardo Peacecraft," Trowa muttered. "And... a black man."

"I know him," Nichol said. "He worked for Treize, sometimes. But as an independent contractor. All of those jobs were years ago. Eleven _hates_ him, but Thirteen wouldn't let her put him down..."

"Acht," Trowa flinched. "That's right. I saw him. Earlier." Trowa put his face into his free hand as if suffering from a sudden head rush.

"Hey," Nichol guided them both further away.

"I was following Acht after warning Heero. The Inspector wants Heero dead, because he didn't get the job done the first time. He went after One, except Six and Nine stopped him. I was there..." Trowa sat down heavily on the cement blocks around a transplanted tree.

Nichol glanced around them to make sure they hadn't been seen, but both the Inspector and Milliardo Peacecraft had left in their separate vehicles. He couldn't help but think that those two made a lethal combination.


	35. Division and Cosigns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven reigns in her temper as Catherine and Duo check names off their list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Eleven had punched the bag hard enough that her fist almost went all the way into it. She stepped back from it and stared it down. She shut her eyes.

"I should have been allowed to eviscerate that man," she muttered to herself. "Instead, he's walking around with Six in broad daylight." She hit the bag again, this time her fist did rip into the bag. She pulled it out again and then kicked it.

"Patience," she found the sound was of her own voice, but Jo's tone.

"I really don't need to be this crazy," she chuckled. "But Jo, you are right. I do forget myself. I'm too efficient. Some things have to unravel on their own."

She steadied the bag and leaned on it. No one was in the room with her. No one knew about this hiding place. It was a safe house she had kept even from the other personalities. It was where she went to avoid ripping out the throats of real people. She huffed and she could see her breath in the cold room. She picked up a roll of duct tape from the floor and then began to patch up the thoroughly abused punching bag.

****

Catherine Bloom was irritated by her lack of progress, but she was certain of one thing. Children weren't responsible for killing Sally. She redoubled her efforts on the rest of the suspect list. The names were unfamiliar, but their affiliation was easy enough to ascertain.

"White Fang," she questioned. "Aren't they terrorists? They aren't in it for the money….or so they claim, which makes it okay when they kill children and citizens unconnected with the underworld?"

Duo nodded. "Lately, the gossip has been that White Fang's leaders want into the Numbers."

Catherine laughed. "Not a Number alive, or even dead, would accept them. They'd hurt the bottom line." She looked over the list again and then picked a name. "Let's try this one."

"Why?"

"Because I was just thinking…Would the Numbers have to allow White Fang in if they were led by an already established Number?"

"It would have to be a pretty big Number," Duo replied. "That sort of move takes rocks."

"I know." She took a breath. She hated feeling like a foot soldier, but she'd been stripped of her revenge and she needed satisfaction. "Where should we start?"

"White Fang hot spots."

****

Josephine shut her eyes and took in the scent of lavender and white rose. There was also a hint of jasmine. The smells were soft reminders of Iria and Hilde. She was not anywhere near them. She was in a safe house because- It had to be because of Eleven. Eleven was stepping back, or trying to. She was feeling a tug on her leash which meant someone Eleven really hated had reappeared, or something to that effect.

Josephine opened her eyes and stared up at the cold black ceiling. She turned on her side and clutched the pillow there to her. She breathed deep the scent of softer things and wondered when Eleven had had the foresight to collect it.

What was it she was trying to hold on to being surrounded with black walls and the smells that often induced a swell of lust? Was it merely a precaution for when Josephine would wake?

She pushed the pillow away. There was another scent, faint, cedar perhaps. She turned her head in the other direction and pulled another pillow towards her. This one was older and it reminded her of…

"Oh," she said softly. "Oh yes, Noin." She sat up and held the pillow to her and inhaled the lingering scent. "No one would remember this place, Eleven. Even I forgot. This one you need to let go."

Josephine Une put the pillow aside. She got out of the bed and walked along the cold black concrete floor. She reached out for a light and switched it on. The black walls were adorned with three colorful oil paintings on large canvasses. She walked over to small chest and opened it finding neatly pressed clothes and a letter sealed with wax.

"Memory." She muttered. "Memory everywhere, and what do you wish to do with them Eleven? It won't make our mother come back. It won't make Lucrezia love us. It won't avenge a black eye, and the other slight Six attempted."

She dressed and then stepped through to the other room with the punching bag and the half used roll of duct tape. She walked to the door and opened it. She stepped out into the forgotten wilderness of the Kushrenada estate. The bunker was on the land's borders, far from where the house once stood.

Une shut the door and looked for a lock, but found none. She stepped away from the bunker and proceeded down towards the house where she was greeted quite unexpectedly by Treize's personal driver.

"Ma'am," he said and tipped his hat. "His Excellency would like to see you for dinner. There's a dress in the car for you, and he apologizes for the late invitation."

"That's fine. I can dress in the car."

****

Catherine let three knives fly from her fingertips and watched them land with deep thuds into their targets, the targets being anywhere but the young White Fang member's body. He was trembling, but had been a good listener so far. Cathy had said he better stand still, and he did.

"Someone," Catherine said softly, "left a very nasty present for you and your pals."

The young man nodded.

"Do you know why?"

He nodded again.

"Does it have to do with the number that was carved into that little gift?"

He hesitated and then saw the way Catherine was carelessly walking about and juggling the knife still in her hand. He nodded.

"So, White Fang and… Six?"

Another nod.

"Huh."

"What?" Duo asked. He had been standing close by, enjoying the show. Catherine had always liked to show off.

"Just something…something I once heard from…someone. I can't remember how the phrase went but it was about loyalty." She threw the knife in her hand and it landed perfectly, piercing the young man's heart. "This makes things…interesting. We should work down that list though."

"Not go after Six?"

Catherine arched an eyebrow and Duo grinned.

"I know, I couldn't help it though." He titled his head to the side and asked, "Why help Eleven?"

"I think she has a plan worth following."

"But we don't actually know what it is."

"So far it seems to be cause a ruckus and see who comes out of the wolf pack, question, kill, and repeat." Catherine walked over and collected her knives. "Seems like a good plan actually."

****

Treize had escorted Josephine to the dance floor of the posh dining establishment. She was very calm about it and tried to remember that she had to follow and not lead.

"Did Eleven calm down?" He asked.

"I think so."

"She was very upset and wouldn't tell me why." He said and spun her out and then back to him. "Do you have any ideas, or is this going to be like that day with the black eye?"

"I have suspicions, but nothing I can share. Nothing with hard evidence." She shut her eyes and then opened them again at the start of the waltz, trying to find something she could use to spot.

"I'd nearly forgotten about your little hideaway."

"As did I?"

Treize grinned. "She never forgets does she?"

"No." Une replied. "She remembers so I can move on."

He led her back to the table. They sat down and wine was poured for them.

"I want to dance with her," Treize said as he sipped his wine.

Josephine took a deep breath. "She isn't a novelty."

"I know."

She nodded. "I can't exactly will her back."

"I know, Jo," he smiled, sadly. "But I can."

Une brought her hands to her eyes. She wanted to scream, but found it cut off by a chuckle and then she was gone. Eleven reached out with her eyes shut and found circular frames. She placed them on her face and she smiled.

"She'll hate you for that for the rest of your life," Eleven said. "Why did you do it?"

"I've missed her." Treize replied. "You're handy work is exceptional, but lacks her grace."

"But that's the point," Eleven said and almost snarled. "You let her understand me a little more didn't you?" She glared at him.

"Yes. Now my dear, you owe me a dance." He scooted back his chair and held out his hand for Eleven to accept.

****

"This can't continue," Hilde said and then sipped from her tea cup.

Quatre smiled and nodded.

"I want to-"

"Save her?"

Hilde looked over at him and blinked. She nodded.

"It might be possible." He took a sip from his cup and then set it down. "Do you like fairytales? My favorite was always Sleeping Beauty."


	36. When Your Number's Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have to eat sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

"Do you ever, I don't know, actually _work_?" Mariemaia set a white paper bag on Wufei's desk and sat in Sally's seat.

"I am working." He tapped the pencil against his forehead, before deciding the answer he wanted for eleven across. The lead was running blunt. "Most mornings are like this. It's not all high action..."

Jackets rustled and bodies moved. Cell phones began to vibrate. Mariemaia and Wufei watched as most of the other detectives and officers hurried out of the room. Some of them chattered among themselves, until everyone had filtered out leaving the two of them alone inside.

"Not you?" she asked. She was wearing an electric blue pants suit. He'd never noticed a woman's clothing so much before, but her choices were bold. To say the least.

The pencil eraser had gotten between his lips. He grunted.

"You could, I don't know, follow them." She looked up at the ceiling.

"No point," Wufei said, resigned. "By the time I get there, the scene's contaminated with pat answers and easy fixes. What makes it to trial is already determined." He scowled as Mariemaia's grin only grew larger as he grumbled.

"Oh, I _like_ you," she said at last. "Ask me why I'm here?"

"Why are you here?" he supplied, dutifully.

"Because I think I've found your angle in on working Sally Po's case." She leaned forward. "Are you ready?"

"I'm not allowed..." he started.

"Oh think _sideways_ for once." She lifted her arms and waved them to the left as if throwing away his obtuseness.

"What?" Wufei determined she was lucky that he liked her. Even though he knew he couldn't _trust_ her.

He had _liked_ Sally, too.

The bag had a wrapped breakfast sandwich. He could smell the questionable sausage patty before he witnessed it.

"Inspector Acht? He does demolition work. Buildings, old ones with poor structure. Trees, for when the environmentalists fail us. He loves bombs, but had a fondness for bullets," she waited.

"I thought he was with the police." Wufei had eaten half the sandwich regardless of the questionable quality.

"Sort of." Mariemaia set her chin in her hand watching him eat. Her face had a funny expression. "It's part time. Semi-retired work. Anyway, I was putting in some hours doing some clerical work. Fixing some really unorganized online documents, when I started noticing a pattern. Do you know who signed off on 98% of Sally Po's paperwork?"

Wufei stopped chewing, "Ninety-eight?"

"Inspector Acht," Marimaia beamed. "But you need to really look at things from the other direction, Wufei." She lost momentum after saying his name, but he was starting to catch on.

"The two percent?" Wufei tossed the wrapper into the trash.

"She'd been too close at looking into Acht's business. He didn't like it. And no one ever followed up."

Wufei stared at her for a long moment. She could be throwing him off her father's trail, but the truth had a way of surfacing. He hadn't had an angle to work without giving away his hand. Making an enemy wasn't anything new either.

"So?" She seemed nervous again. A strange reaction for such an otherwise plucky, overconfident young woman.

"I'm driving," Wufei pushed up from his seat. "You can even tell me where to go. If it's around the block and a waste of time, it's better than the local crossword."

***

Trowa put his fist into his palm like a gavel. "Threaten people," he said.

Nichol glanced up from his plate of food, he'd been very diligently carving up his steak, to look around and see if they'd drawn any unwanted attention. The bar was a bit upscale for him, but they let in casually dressed gay men without a fuss. It had been the easiest way to get Trowa off the street for a while.

He'd taken up some preoccupied notion with climbing up gates and tightrope walking along fences.

"Yeah," Nichol chewed a bite. "We do that sometimes."

"I haven't thrown a rock through a window in a long time." Trowa leaned his head against Nichol's shoulder. With all the space in their booth, attached at the hip was the only option for that afternoon. Nichol had a pretty good idea what was causing the situation and didn't know if letting it into the air would help or hurt.

"I also like a good fist to the gut. Heero did it once to this other guy. This guy..." he trailed off. "Are you going to eat that?" Long fingers took a seasoned fry and it disappeared until Nichol couldn't feel the chewing through his sleeve anymore.

"You have an entire plate of your own fries," Nichol observed.

"I want yours."

"You always have your reasons." Nichol watched his food disappear from their joint effort. In the dark of the room, Trowa seemed less effected by the on-and-off headaches since the flight museum.

"Taking anything home?" The waitress asked, clearing away the one empty place setting.

"Just him." Nichol reluctantly nudged Trowa awake.

The evening had turned chill. Even with Trowa's churning body heat pressed up against his back, Nichol wondered if the temperatures in the city would ever settle on something considered _comfortable_. Trowa wrapped his arms around Nichol's neck like a scarf.

"Can you walk home or do you need a cab?" Nichol asked, when all of Trowa's weight immediately disappeared.

Nichol had seen Trowa fight before. He'd been part of some scuffles back when Nichol had a notion of becoming a Number. Before he knew the kid named Barton was a Number _already_. The memories were quite naive compared to the sound of the cracking bone when Trowa's hand broke the attacker's jaw.

Nichol thought it probably fair to call a guy an attacker when he had a short knife pointed at your boyfriend. He would have stepped in, except Trowa started to laugh.

"Come on." The taller man taunted, tossing his hair back. "I've already noticed you. Why fall back now?"

Nichol reckoned anyone with half a brain would have put Trowa down with a shot to the head before engaging in hand-to-hand combat. The entire situation seemed sloppy and completely unlike any of the Numbers. Confrontation in a public setting, during the day, with every possibility of witnesses.

His reaction was sluggish. To his credit, Nichol liked taking his time. No rushing a safe. But thankful that his ears were good, he lifted his hands when the safety released on the gun. He could almost see the muzzle in his peripheral vision.

He definitely saw Trowa's reaction. The other man frowned briefly, then lowered his arms. He put both feet in line to balance his full height.

"Smart boy."

Nichol grimaced. The person with the gun was a woman. His day was getting better and better.

"My name is Lucille Aisley, Mr. Barton. And while we doubt you'd accept our offer to chat with White Fang on an invitation alone, I thought maybe we'd put a price on the ticket."

The gun lowered slightly, and Nichol considered some ridiculous counter move, when she pulled the trigger.


	37. Call The Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days, Iria thinks she lives at that hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian
> 
> For those readers who are interested, a great deal of the new White Fang related characters are adopted from the Gundam Wing side-story _The Last Outpost_, also known as [Gundam Wing: G-Unit](http://aboutgundamwing.com/Manga/LastOutpost.htm).

"You are not defenseless," the girl said. She shook the boy by the shoulders then landed a slap across his cheek. "Just because that man who pays the rent on the house we live in tells us to call him _Father_ doesn't mean that we can't reasonably decide for ourselves what's right and wrong. Sometimes he's right. Sometimes he's _wrong_."

They were in the narrow space of shadow-hidden grass between the garage and their latest home. The summer breeze tossed her curls with almost a righteous fury as she leaned back to study the damage of her fingers. He touched his jaw but did not rub.

"I won't be able to take care of you forever, Trowa. And you can't just find someone else to do it for you either..."

***

Iria Winner should have gone home hours ago. Her shift had ended, but one of the interns had found an anomaly on a lab report and the other doctors had all mysteriously disappeared. "I'll take it." She reached for the chart and as soon as it was in her hands, the intern miraculously evaporated as well.

She ordered another round of tests to rule out some of the simple explanations for the results. _Get those out of the way_. And she'd found somewhere deep inside her a reserve that pulled out a rather convincing smile for the patient.

"We'll know more soon, Mr. Martin. Just watch the tv for a while if you'd like. Or here's a magazine."

She turned outside the privacy curtain and washed her hands at the wall dispenser. Perhaps if she called in a few favors from the lab they'd get the results to her quickly while letting her catch a few winks of sleep in the supply closet if she could find an empty, not-too-broken piece of office furniture.

Walking down the hall she noticed a young man coming toward her. What stood out was how resolutely he would _not look_ at Iria. She paused by one of the support beams to watch him as he passed. He hesitated briefly saying, "Three's boyfriend is in critical."

Her eyelid twitched once. Then a second time, convulsing with weary pressure. Sirens were going off in her head, but nothing external had changed.

Time muddled as if she were wading through the air. Finding an open computer, she logged in and checked the admit list. Male, early thirties, gunshot. He'd been found sitting in front of the ER, unconscious with a note pinned to his chest. Iria flinched when she saw what the staff had actually keyed in.

_If he dies, you all die._

Iria looked at Mr. Martin's file, then back at the screen. The gunshot victim had already been taken into surgery. The physician was trustworthy enough and able to see past the sensationalism of the situation to do a good job. But not good enough for any patient associated to the Numbers.

Iria just hoped she had a miracle in her back pocket. For Mr. Martin and the man in the operating room.

Three didn't make idle threats.

***

Trowa sat in the backseat of the gaudy stretch limousine as it took the exit from the city toward the airport and its surrounding neighborhoods. On the other side of the seat, Lucille Aisley made a phone call. "We're on our way," she said.

Between them was a dark stain. Trowa had set his hand directly onto it, observing how it spread outward from his fingertips. The heat of the mess was almost gone, except where Trowa's hand kept it warm. The wet became sticky against his fingers.

His senses were high charged beyond necessity. He could smell Lucille's perfume. From the sounds of fabric moving over leather, the man in the front shifted his weight from one hip to the other. Nervous. The driver glanced into the rear-view mirror every twenty seconds. More quickly if the third man groaned. His jaw was broken.

The agreement had been to leave Nichol at the hospital. No one else.

Trowa chuckled.

"What?" Lucille asked. She was young, possibly nineteen. Her eyes were shrewd. Pretty and confident. She was loved by someone.

He leaned against one shoulder letting his head slide comfortably to one side. "You were right."

"What?" she said again, looking for the catch.

"Oh, you found the right price. For the ticket." he said, taking a deep, refreshing breath. The oxygen focused his anger and adrenaline pulsed through his system as a steadying force.

"I think you'll find White Fang is quite thorough when it conducts business," Lucille replied, still cautious, but swelling with belief behind every word. She was rather the poster child of the cause if there was one.

"I suppose you know that one doesn't become a Number without learning how to push the _limits_, shall we say," Trowa pondered. He heard the radio flutter as the dial was changed. It rotated through two news programs before settling on the local classic rock station.

He grinned, "_Dead or alive_. Yeah, Bon Jovi knew what he was talking about."

The vehicle kicked up pebbles as they turned away from the large architectural monster that was the airport and moved into the trees which blocked the view beyond the immediate road and a few houses.

"Is this a private meeting?" Trowa wondered how much information Lucille would give to him. He wanted her dead. Oh so very much he wanted to pull her heart out of her body and squeeze it so it fit into her mouth. The image didn't cause him to even flinch. He didn't react.

"Only a select few were invited," Lucille answered. She crossed her legs, left over right knee as if her body was offering some sort of connection between them. She leaned slightly forward so her top sank lower. A strange move, he thought. But then, she was the sort of woman to lead with her fist.

"Were we all given such cordial receptions?" he wondered.

"Oh, not by half." Her fingernail traced the edge of the stain between them. "Some of our guests sought out us."

He would break her wrist if she touched that blood. Then he would grab her head and pull her face into the doorknob. Knock out her teeth and ruin the smile they were sharing. "And I suspect that you investigated them just as thoroughly as you did me... and Nichol."

Lucille curled her fingers back, but continued to lean forward on her arm. "Some people are just smart without needing to be coerced to do the right thing."

Trowa put a finger sideways across his lips. His teeth casually bit onto his knuckle. It was all he could do not to laugh.

The other so-called _guests_ were either defecting Numbers or mercenaries or worse, washed-out politicians. Maybe a curious Number or two. _Two_... he paused at that thought.

And even if he was the only one. _One_?

Lucille and White Fang had made a horrible miscalculation, one, two or three...

Three would repaint the walls in their blood.

***

Catherine reached out for Trowa's hand and held it loosely in her own. "It's okay, little guy. When you find someone to love it won't matter what they can do for you. What'll matter is what you can do for them. And you know that I love you, right?"

She helped him stand up and they walked out of the shadows back into the sunlit yard.

"That's what big sisters do. We'll show up when you least expect us, but just when you need us."


	38. Eleven Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven is feared among the Numbers, there is a reason for that fear, and this piece is most of that reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

There was once a Number called Fifty-Five.

No one talks about him.

No one wants Eleven to overhear them say his name, or whisper his number.

And even with the Lady or Josephine Une, the name itself, the number, causes a flicker of darkness that serves as a reminder.

No one talks about him.

It is for the better that the name and number be forgotten.

****

Eleven stood in the doorway of the motel room. Behind her circular frame glasses her eyes were narrowed in sharp focus. She was a statue, stock still, observing all within the room. Nothing outside of the room existed, not even the unfortunate sounds of two of her three men completely losing what little they had eaten for dinner. She stared into the darkness that was accented by the lights of the street below, the blink of the neon sign.

Black silk sheets draped around the walls, a perfect hanging, wrapped up around the body of a young woman, and dripping black that was really deep red onto the bed and the floor below. The young woman hung crucified to the dark wall that in the light would be stark white. Eleven's brown eyes searched out in the darkness and spotted the method keeping her aloft, three nails in each arm, and then of course there was a sheet twisted around the young woman's neck. It was a lighter color, even in the dark. Eleven thought it might be blue.

Someone, it must have been the one man that wasn't sick, tapped her on the shoulder. She didn't even flinch. She continued to stare forward.

"Ma'am," he whispered urgently. "Ma'am, people are coming."

She shut her eyes. From somewhere inside her the Lady was weeping, sobbing, even raging. Eleven opened her eyes and stepped back, shutting the door. She swooped back down the hall and out a side exit. She did not even know or care if her men were keeping up with her.

This was the final insult.

She had had enough.

And if Thirteen tried to keep her from what she had to do then it was a pity, because there was no way this could go unanswered.

****

The police photos were horrific.

Treize had seen plenty of horror, but this was excessive. There was so much joy in the preparation. He hated that. It was what he sought to root out of the Numbers. There was no room for monsters in his organization, his underworld. He tilted his head slightly and considered that he did have room for a fairly brutal guard dog.

Six had said something and he looked up.

"I said, do you really intend to do this?" Six repeated and tried not to look at the pictures.

"Yes." Treize replied. "This can not stand. Eleven is free to see to this matter however she wishes."

Six nodded, and found, that despite his uncertainty, it was the best course to take. Eleven was off leash, and she would destroy.

****

Aretha Walker was an obedient and chipper young woman with a lot of skill and cunning. She acted as a secretary for Josephine Une, but unlike so many of the Lady's girls, there was no doubt that Aretha belonged to Eleven. The Lady didn't even flirt with her, and that was saying something, since the Lady was always quick to admire beauty.

Eleven had not quite been able to look at the police photos. The brightness of the lights in that room made the scene too real. The elegance of it wore off, the picture painting of it no longer existed, and the murder was meant to be seen as a work of art, a calling card. It was a dare.

She sat very still behind her desk with her hand over the file that contained the photos. Eleven tried to imagine Aretha walking through the door to offer coffee for the late night, an honest but cute quip, "Should I rough them up, boss?"

The young woman had been so brilliant at it, and skilled.

Eleven took a deep breath.

"So, two of them perhaps."

She shut her eyes and opened the folder. She steeled herself to feel nothing. There could be nothing but the cold. Let the Lady remember for her, and understand the burden of that duty for once. Let her feel the memory of warm kisses, and wanting. All those silly girls the Lady played with, Eleven only wanted one, one thing. She only felt a spark of real wanting once and now it had been ripped out of her hands.

Her eyes opened. She peered down at the bright mess of white, red, and black. And blue, the sheet around Aretha's lovely and perfect neck. The blue was important. She tried to remember why.

The nails were thick and heavy iron. The ship yard was full of them.

Now, she pressed her palms flat into the desk.

The eyes were shut.

The feet dangled.

The black sheet was draped, but did not conceal the breasts.

There was a bruise on the inner right thigh.

She shot up from her chair and pounded her fists into the desk. They stung with pain, but she couldn't register the sensation.

There was a knock on her door and then it opened.

She looked over at the young man standing there and said, "Find Fifty-five."

****

"There's a severed head nailed to your door," Soris purred as she entered the office.

Valder Farkill looked up from his desk and saw that Soris was actually holding the bloodless head in her hands. He grinned and then waved her off. "Was he anyone I should care about?"

"Hell, if I know. I think he was new to your group." She held the head up and looked at it. "Well, it's definitely her, and not him."

Valder shrugged. "I suppose if one is calling Lord Hades out one must start with Cerberus first."

Soris chuckled and placed the head in the wastebasket. She brushed off her hands and then blew a stray bleached blonde bang out of her eyes. "What's next then, Mr. Fifty-five?"

He tilted his head to the side and then said, "Well, small retribution for the head at the very least. Something small but Eleven's." Valder stood up and walked over to his personal body guard and grinned slyly. "Did you kiss it?"

"I couldn't help myself," Soris replied wickedly. "You know how I am about death."

"Yes." He smiled, it was thin and cruel. "Well, my dear, soon all of Hell will be ours."

"Won't we need a Heracles to put the dog down?"

"Perhaps." He reached out and pulled Soris to him almost violently. "You'll be better than any lady." He kissed her and bit her tongue. She started and then chuckled as the taste of blood subtly filled her mouth.

****

The Numbers were arguing amongst themselves in the small conference room. Noticeably missing from the meeting were Fifty-five and Eleven. One of the older Numbers stood up and pounded his fist into the table to quiet the room. He looked over at Thirteen and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Reign her back in, Thirteen. She can't continue like this. It's causing havoc."

"Is it?" Trieze asked and shrugged slightly. "This isn't perhaps a problem because Eleven was the one to finally put the brakes on Ten?"

The older man sat back down, silent.

Trieze stood up and said, "Fifty-five appears to have picked a fight. Eleven has only retaliated against his crew. So, unless others of you in this group had something to do with the very unwarranted murder of Miss Walker I say you have nothing to fear."

****

Eleven dreamed in vivid color blurred by her lack of glasses. She never had glasses in her dreams, and the world there was always twists of color and form. She was dreaming of Aretha and the first night they had met, a Numbers bar that had a reputation for getting rough.

Aretha had just leapt out of reach of a punch and being petite Eleven had caught her on accident. Setting her to her feet slowly and then immediately taking care of the forgettable thug that had been after the young woman.

"I did steal his watch," Aretha said with a grin.

"Why?"

"Girl's got to eat."

"Then stop stealing and start assisting," Eleven had said, and then because she didn't care what anyone thought, and because she wanted what she wanted, she kissed Aretha right there in front of everyone. And no one made a move to say anything about it, except-

Valder Farkill in that _blue_ fruity looking jacket, and that bleach blonde tramp of a body guard of his who sniggered and made very loud and uncouth remarks, remarks that would continue in unending streams at meetings, and were soon followed by moves on Eleven's small territory.

Eleven had ignored them then. They weren't even worth her attention at the time. Valder wanted to be bigger than he was. He thought himself the equal of Thirteen, and to top it off he had been remotely close to Six. Though Six was distancing himself from the self proclaimed Dark General of Death.

Eleven's eyes fluttered open as the dream dissipated, and she thought, through the darkness and the remaining haze of the dream, that she could feel Aretha holding her.

No one was holding her. She was far from the Lady's girls, far from the city in the old bunker on the Kushrenada estate. She touched the fabric of the black sheets and shut her eyes from the smell of cedar that lingered about her pillow. There was nothing of Aretha's she had there. She wanted to remember, to find something. She would have to wait.

****

Valder was not amused to find his prize hounds poisoned. His brow knit tightly together and he surveyed the scene. He was confused. This was not Eleven. Eleven struck out at people not animals. Who would be so childish?

"Poor puppies," Soris said. "The video caught a child's form. He looked like part of that new group."

"White Fang," Valder said with a laugh. "What a waste of time?"

****

The envelope containing a strip of black fabric was unexpected. There was a typed note and it said: _Because you were the only one who cared._

Eleven moved it around in her hand and then brought it her nose. Aretha's scent, number two pencils and fresh cherries, clung to the fabric. She flipped the little card over in her hand, and then looked the envelope over.

She made her way out to the old paper mill, and stalked among the burnt out ruins until she came to a small shanty. A boy slept there and she prodded his molding tennis shoes with her boots. He started awake and then tried to run, but Eleven was faster than he was. She caught him by the collar.

"How old are you?" Eleven asked.

The boy was thin and slight, and he struggled under her grip that was surprisingly strong.

"I'm eleven. Let me go!"

"Why did you send me this?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out the scrap of fabric.

He started to cry. She sighed and released him.

"She was special to you."

He nodded. He tried to talk and gasped out a sob. He then, quite unexpectedly, threw himself around Eleven's waist. She looked down at him unsure what to even do.

"Stop." She said and pushed him back. "Stop. Tears don't bring back the dead."

The boy shook and nodded. "I killed his dogs," the boy said.

"Why?"

"I don't know," he cried. "He's too big and I just-"

"You wanted to take something precious away from him?" Eleven shook her head. "That wasn't the right thing." She knelt down to him. "How do you know it was Farkill?"

The boy wiped his sleeve across his eyes and nose. He sniffed. "I saw him take her. I should have…I should have-"

"Maybe." She looked off. "What's your name?"

"Roche."

She looked at the little patch on his jacket. "White Fang? Really?"

He nodded. "Get a quarter for every time I warn them about the police."

She shook her head. "What do you want?"

"I want him dead."

"I can fix that."

"I want his head!"

Eleven grinned. "You may regret wanting that someday."

****

Eleven had used her thumbs to gouge out the uncooperative member of Fifty-five's eyes out. He was screaming, except that it was muffled by all the duct tape across his mouth. She moved her thumbs around in the now empty sockets and then kneed him in the stomach.

"I hate complicit snakes like you." She whispered and withdrew her thumbs. She wiped the blood across his cheeks. "I think I'll let him find you in his trunk."

****

Soris recoiled at the sight of the, it was hardly even a man anymore, it was pieces. Then she saw the other thing.

She slammed the trunk shut which was a mistake because that triggered the explosives. And what was left of Soris was indiscernible from what was left of the body parts in the trunk.

****

Fifty-five sent Eleven a well worded letter. It was merely a time and a place. She shredded the note and went to prepare.

****

"Is it enough," Thirteen asked.

"Not yet," Eleven said.

"Even if the police weren't crooked they wouldn't be able to prove it was you who had, quite single handedly, taken out all of Fifty-five's men." He watched her pull her leather gloves on. "But this is all…graceless. It lacks-"

"I'm sure if Jo were around every kill and step would be a work of art. I'm not Jo and I'm not a lady."

He nodded. She wasn't. Eleven was so separate. Aretha had been good for her though. The young woman had served as a good compass for Eleven, now she was adrift, and once her task was complete she would be chained back to the gates. He would have to find her someone, but someone the Lady would want too.

****

Valder Farkill stood on the docks in a black coat with his long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes narrowed when he saw Eleven approach, and true to form she arrived without back up. She stood and stared him down.

"Aren't we even?" He hissed. "There was nothing even left of her!"

Eleven grinned. "I was sort of hoping it would have been you."

He huffed.

"I'm serious." She titled her head slightly to the side. "I had to chase after you of course, but I wanted to take my time with your pet. The way you and she took your time. What was it twelve, fourteen hours?"

Valder laughed maniacally. He sighed as he said, "It was eleven actually."

Eleven nodded.

"How did you guess?"

"I didn't guess," she said softly, coldly. "I saw the bite mark, that bruise. I'm guessing… you didn't think it would show through even in a color photo."

He didn't make a sound.

Eleven looked around. There was nothing but quiet, and the slow lap of water along the docks. She took off her glasses and put them in the pocket of her coat. "You're waiting for something that isn't going to happen. Old Fifty-four is too terrified to help you out."

Valder nodded. "Then you have to catch me."

"I already have you."

He gasped as he felt a blade stick into his lower back. He whirled around to see a boy scuttling back out of his reach. He whipped around to look at Eleven. She grabbed him by the collar.

"I should make you suffer a fate worse than death," Eleven whispered into his ear. "But I wasn't the only person who you hurt when you killed Aretha."

Valder began to chuckle. "Was that her name? I could never even remember it."

"I know, which is why no one will remember or speak yours ever again." She pushed a knife she had concealed in her hand into Valder's stomach and watched as he dropped to his knees. Then she stepped over and picked up a large sharp and thin piece of metal from the ground. She kicked his body over and straddled it, and with all the force in her body brought the metal down on his neck until his head was no longer attached to his body.

She picked it up and then set it down on the ground. Roche shivered in the distance.

"That's yours." Eleven said. "I'll take the rest. You can do whatever you want with it."

****

Fifty-five had some allies among the Numbers. They each received a piece of him in the mail, and never spoke of him again.

****

Eleven sat at her desk, with a piece of black fabric around her hand. There was a knock on her door. She looked up as Hilde entered the room and she squeezed the fabric tightly.

"Your appointment," Hilde said and stepped aside as a young man walked up to the door.

"Thank you, Hilde."

The young man entered and the door shut.

Eleven tried to smile but bit at her bottom lip instead.

"Your secretary-"

"Don't even say it." She said sharply. "I want you to go back to White Fang."

He blinked at her and then nodded.

"And Roche?"

"Yes?"

"Keep an eye out for Six."

Roche nodded.

"Someone…" She managed the smile then. "Someone wants his head."


	39. Fixing the Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White Fang has a meeting, but the organization isn't what Trowa expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Mariemaia liked lattes. Wufei had learned that much about her for sure during the previous hours during which she'd made him stop at various coffee shops whenever her beverage ran out. When he seemed likely to complain she'd jump in with a comment such as, "Want a donut, officer?" which had him wrinkling his brow to keep from revealing their compatible humor.

She climbed into the passenger seat setting a soft briefcase in her lap and balanced the cup between her fingers blowing gently into the lid.

"Where to now?" Wufei asked turning the engine. No leads was typical, but he yearned to be doing something.

Traffic had increased. People were going home, and he let the car idle in the lot as he watched cars endlessly approaching from either direction.

"Well, I've been thinking," Mariemaia said. "We've not had much luck locating these businesses Sally wrote about in her paperwork."

"I'm sure Sally wrote many things that weren't quite right," Wufei muttered. "She worked for your father."

Mariemaia shot him a ruthless look. "Stop it. You wouldn't be doing this if you hadn't found a way to work in the system. Work with me."

The last seemed too personal for Wufei's tastes and he leaned his head against the glass letting his eyes go unfocused. "Go ahead."

She huffed, took a drink, then continued, "These phantom companies all put bids into legitimate projects. We know because they exist now, right? The Rome Building, the stadium for the Atlantics hockey team, even the Grace Apartment buildings on the north side."

"So were there any legitimate contract proposals?" Wufei asked.

"I've got the paperwork we'd need to see the documents," Mariemaia said. "Do you have your reading glasses with you?"

Wufei scowled at her. "How did you... ?"

She giggled as if she were seven.

***

The empty cup was tossed into a plastic-lined can as Wufei set the small mountain of dusty documents on the reading table. They had the room to themselves and it wasn't much. He gave the uncomfortable looking chairs a skeptical glance before pulling one out.

Mariemaia plugged in her laptop and loaded up access to the electronic files.

Wufei wondered if Sally had spent time here doing much the same. He sat in the seat and for a moment the woman across the table was taller than him with wheat colored braids. He pinched his nose and reached for the top folder. Inside was an opening paragraph with enough unintelligible legalese that he nearly gave up then. Except as his eyes dropped down the page they focused on the signature at the bottom.

Vladimer Acht.

"Hey." He sat up from his slouch with such force that his shirt tugged out from his belt. "I've got your boss's signature on a proposal."

"He's not my boss," Mariemaia said smartly. "And that's not so strange. He does have ties to all of these projects. We knew that..."

Wufie slid another folder from the stack and raised his eyebrows at the name. "How many construction businesses does he own?" The third and fourth were all signed by Acht.

Mariemaia did a mental count on her fingers, "Three. Maybe as many as five. But they all have different specialties."

"They aren't competition for each other?"

"No, why?" she lifted her fingers from the keyboard to put her chin in her hands. Her posture made Wufei pause. She smiled at him.

"Well, he's signed proposals for some of our phantom companies. And authorized others. Oh this one is different." He stopped to look at the name. "This one was for some business named MBC. Mark Barnett. Company?"

Mariemaia went back to her laptop and nodded. "Mark Barnett... oh, he's deceased. But the business is still running. And sons. That'll be them."

"No, this is definitely Mark Barnett's signature. Although this was some years back." Wufei pinched his lip. "He didn't get the job."

"Death under suspicious circumstances," Mariemaia read from the online press. "But new evidence showed that the engine Barnett was developing had been the cause of the accident."

"Acht's signature again." Wufei sloppily went through the rest of the folders. "A few other names, but the figures were higher than Barnett's so they wouldn't have been contenders."

"But we know that none of those companies exist," Mariemaia reasoned. "So who did the work?"

A knock at the door distracted them.

"Come in," Wufei acknowledged, closing the file he had been reading.

The woman who leaned in had been the same one who pulled their files. "I'm sorry but we're being asked to close."

"Asked to?" Mariemaia raised her eyebrows and glanced at Wufei.

He shrugged standing up. "Happens to me a lot more than you'd think." Then he couldn't hide his smile anymore. "It usually means I'm onto something _good_."

***

Trowa stretched his back when they let him out of the limo. The childproof locks had twisted his stomach into something like mirth, only it wasn't. He took a deep breath and surveyed the dirt around the narrow walkway to the warehouse. A lot of traffic to-and-from this place, and recently.

He knew this wasn't one of the Number's locations, even with the proximity to the airport. Six had never reported it as White Fang either.

"Mr. Barton?" Lucille motioned for him to follow. "Or do you prefer to go by Three?"

"Same difference," he shrugged, then after looking at the dark stain on his hand, he complied to her request.

A man held open a door for them. It led directly into the largest open center of the warehouse. Offices were along the far wall. They had large glass windows so the plant managers could look out as well as being seen.

"_Our way_ of doing things isn't like that _perversion_." Someone was saying. The room was half full of bodies standing, or shifting between their legs like a lazy tide, with everyone facing a small podium on the far side. An actual banner that had been spray painted "White Fang" hung between two support beams.

Trowa covered his mouth, pulling down at his cheeks to keep from laughing again. Then something else caught his attention. On the podium, and just barely visible, was the polished smoothness of a human skull. _Okay_, he thought. _That's for show but it means something._

A young man with dark hair who had been standing in the back noticed their entrance and half jogged over to Lucille stopping just short of grabbing her into his arms. _That person,_ Trowa thought, remembering the phone call.

The man's hair seemed unable to stay still. It moved even when his body was still. "Trowa Barton," he extended his hand in greeting.

Instead of offering his right hand in return, Trowa showed his left palm.

"Ah, about that..." The man rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing at Lucille. She scowled at him. "I suppose 'no hard feelings' wouldn't work?"

"No."

"Don't be stupid," Lucille said with exacerbation. "Odin."

"Odin?" Trowa wondered where he had heard the name before.

"Great, now he knows my name." Odin's cheeks turned pink, a disposition that Trowa liked about a certain person but at the moment only caused to make the past few hours chafe all the more.

"Oh, I'm sure I would have learned your name eventually," Trowa said simply. "Did you want me to be listening to this? After all the trouble you went to getting me here..."

Lucille crossed her arms and glanced at the speaker. "That's just Roche. He's passionate," she glanced at Trowa. "About bringing down the Numbers. After Treize failed to protect the city like he said _he would_..."

"I'm sure we'll be fast friends," Trowa hooked his thumbs into his pockets and surveyed the other people near Roche. A dark-haired man sat and seemed intent on looking at his hands. The family resemblance to Odin was remarkable. A young woman offered that man a bottle of water. She looked familiar in a different way, her blond hair tumbled forward hiding her features, but not before Trowa recognized her as having kept company with Five. "She wouldn't be very happy to know where you ended up instead," he said to himself.

Odin's brother took the water and gave her what was probably a rare smile. Affection was complicated, Trowa decided. It caused people to make mistakes. He looked at Lucille who never relaxed even while Odin could so easily be smashed under Trowa's fists. Five seconds later, dead.

It would be a quick revenge. But Trowa wasn't interested in quick as much as he was in seeing Nichol again. He'd have to survive on his imagination until circumstances changed.

Affection was complicated.

"With this engine, the Mark Barnett Company could bring real work to the people of the city. Not sub-par contracts from foreign agencies. Let's bring down this corruption of lies and bribes and projects that hurt the city while our projects get caught up in the red tape of bureaucracy," Roche said. He tipped back his head so the white-blonde hair fell away from his face.

_I wonder what Eleven would say?_ Trowa recognized him then. "Seems like that one likes to walk the fence."

"What?" Odin asked. "Roche is my friend. He really cares about the poor workers in the community."

"I'm sure he does," Trowa nodded. "Do you guys even know what White Fang means?"

"What?" Odin replied, obviously puzzled.

Lucille lost her constant alert long enough to pull Odin closer to her. "Just listen," she encouraged. She held Odin's hand, the angle pulled on her clothes showing the holster that held the gun that had shot Nichol.

She knew what White Fang meant. Of that much, Trowa was certain.

Trowa continued to look through the faces to see who was listening to Roche's speech. He recognized a few of Nine's men, which made sense since Nine had let herself get distracted. In one corner a possible member of the Maganac Corp watched with a blank expression. Reconnaissance for Four. Stupid letting him in no matter what his cover story was. A few of the clusters seemed to be average citizens, possibly employees of the very business that owned this building.

Then someone shouted, "He has a gun."

Roche looked up at the catwalk, so did everyone else.

Trowa shook his head. "You were supposed to be retired," he sighed.

"You guys don't know what you're doing," Heero Yuy grumbled, just loud enough to be heard. He had a gun pointed toward the front. But it was hard to tell if it was on Roche or Odin's brother. "What's the point of this?"

"One," someone correctly identified the newcomer.

Trowa noticed a movement from the opposite direction, so he was less surprised than the rest when he heard a jolly shout across the rafters.

"Hey, buddy! Long time no see!" Two leaned over the railing of his own catwalk. His braid slipped and fell over his shoulder.

"One, Two, Three..." Trowa said, bemused. It had been a long time since they'd all been in the same room together. The younger generation of Numbers had been rather splintered for some time.

Heero likely had no intention of shooting anyone, because Roche had jumped down from the stage and was organizing a small group of men toward what probably was the back stairwell. Odin's brother, interestingly enough, had disappeared along with Five's former charge.

"I think you all better get along home," Heero said, not acknowledging Two who made a noise of indignation. "Six is on his way, and I'm pretty sure you're not here with his permission."

"Six?" voices muttered. Even Roche paused from his assembly of men to rethink his strategy.

"Come on," Odin said, pulling on Lucille where they were connected.

"What about him?" Lucille glanced at Trowa with a spark of concern.

"That was a lot of trouble to get me here," Trowa observed. "I hope it was worth what's going to happen next." His fingers twitched.

"Come on," Odin coaxed again.

Trowa heard car engines starting and horns honking as the crowd thinned out. Nine's men were gone as was the Arab. Heero put his arm down and moved to leave.

"Hey! Hey," Duo Maxwell was shouting. "What?"

Trowa looked up again and noticed Two wasn't alone. The second figure was in direct light, but for some reason he couldn't _see_ her. It was as if she were made of white light also. He lifted his hand, reflexively to block the light, and squinted. Red curls?

Then Duo gave up getting Heero's attention and looked down to the nearly empty factory floor. He saw Trowa and said, "Oh... _damn_."


	40. The Equation of a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Roche and his relationship with Aretha Walker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Aretha Walker juggled the two bags of groceries in her arms as she walked from the car she borrowed to the burnt out remains of the paper mill. She whistled as a small shanty came into sight and a boy of about eleven with blonde hair emerged. He ran forward to help her. He skipped along with one of the bags as he tried to keep up with Aretha's quick pace.

In the shanty Aretha took a seat on an old wooden box and started handing out various canned goods and instant noodles to the boy who stared wide-eyed at the bounty he was receiving.

"Did you rob a grocery truck," the boy asked as he eyed a can of vegetables suspiciously.

"No," Aretha said. "I've just found a new occupation that pays a little better." She watched the absolute joy on the boy's face when he discovered the bags of hard candy. "Don't eat all of those at once, and make sure you don't let people steal this stuff from you, Roche."

Roche nodded as he opened and bag and unwrapped a piece of the candy. He put it in his mouth and savored the sweet cherry flavor.

Aretha smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. She sighed. "You need a haircut."

"I know," he replied sloppily as the candy clicked around in his mouth.

"Where are the scissors? I'll give you a quick trim."

He moved around in the small space and riffled through piles of dusty and dirty clothes. He then discovered an old pair of slightly rusting scissors and handed it over to Aretha. She tested them out and knocked them along the box to indicate that Roche should sit before her. She combed out his hair as best she could with her fingers and then started to cut the boy's hair.

"Not too short," Roche commanded.

"Okay. Still going for the Lancelot thing?"

He stopped himself from nodding and said, "Yes." He thought for a moment as he watched his hair fall to the ground and then asked, "So your job…that means I won't get to see you all the time?"

"You'll see me plenty," Aretha replied. "Just not everyday." She made a few final cuts to even things out and then dusted off his shoulders. "There. Not too bad. Pick up and we can go get the rest of the stuff."

"There's more?" The question was filled with excitement.

"You're just about all I have kid," Aretha said. "I told you I'd take care of you."

****

When Roche was about six years old he and his mother were living on the streets, but while she was out working (mostly pan handling and cheap prostitution) there was an accident and she was killed. Two days later he was recruited into a small time pick pocket group, and that was when he met Aretha.

He had tried to do as his new master instructed him, but was caught, and he was caught because he was an amateur pickpocket when compared to Aretha Walker. She was a professional at fourteen, and her other skills at theft were coming along nicely. She had stared him down squeezing his wrist and then tugged him into an alley.

"That's how you get caught," she said in a chiding whisper. "You working for...Dekim." It wasn't a question she was certain. That guy loved to use kids. They were easy to control and once their skills were really good he could pass them off to the Alliance or the OZ as foot soldiers. Not that being a foot soldier would be terrible, but the skills were really all wrong, and Dekim Barton was a bastard.

Roche nodded.

Aretha let go of his wrist and he didn't run away.

She grimaced. "How old are you?"

He held up his hands.

"Okay." She thought for a moment. She looked at his face. There was a small bruise under his eye. He wasn't learning fast enough for Dekim's low standards. She shook her head. "Do you want to be a thief?"

Roche shook his head.

"Okay then, come with me." She held out her hand. "What's your name, kid?"

"Roche."

"I'm Aretha, Aretha Walker." She stepped out and looked up and down the sidewalk. "Okay, come with me."

She reached out and he grabbed her hand. They walked down the street.

"You need a haircut, kid."

****

Roche waited outside the seedy little motel and watched as Aretha stepped out of a very nice car. He waited till the vehicle drove off before sliding out of the shadows and whistling. Aretha had her key in her door and waved Roche over.

Inside Roche sat down in one of the chairs and tried not to look when Aretha set about changing her clothes.

"What's happening, kid?" Aretha called after stepping off to the bathroom.

"Dekim's back."

Aretha poked her head out of the bathroom and then emerged in just her bra and jeans. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. She thought for a moment and then said, "There's a new group, very small, but they operate near you," she said. "They aren't much, but see if they have any work for you. If you have their patch Dekim won't bother with you."

"But the others-"

"Roche…" She shut her eyes and put her hand to her face. "Roche, you have to save yourself before you can save others."

He nodded sadly.

"Come here." She held out her arms.

He flew to her and hugged her tight, and they sat on the bed together.

"There's my errant knight." She said softly. "Maybe…If things work out with-"

"I saw the car."

Aretha smiled. "Did you?" She chuckled. "What you must think."

"Is your boss…is he nice to you?"

"She isn't a nice person. No one in this world really is, and nice isn't what counts. She cares, and she cares a lot." She pulled away from him and brushed back her short dark hair with her fingers. "I think she'd like you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She reached out and touched his cheek. "You're a noble young man. All those knightly qualities, she holds them in high regard."

Roche's eyes narrowed as he noticed a little bruise along her shoulder. He touched it and scowled.

"Oh, little boy," Aretha sighed. "One day you'll recognize the difference between a serious wound and…" She hesitated even bringing it up. Then she shook her head and said, "Remember when I was dating that one guy and you walked in on us?"

His eyes got wide. "Oh. Like that."

"Sometimes affection is rough."

"I don't like it."

Aretha sighed. "Then never be rough with the one you love."

"Aretha?"

"Yes, Roche?"

"I love you," he said.

She smiled. "I know you do." She stood up and walked back into the bathroom. "Are you staying tonight? I have the room for a few days and there's a cot in the closet."

There was only silence. She stepped out of the bathroom, but Roche had gone.

****

The punching bag was feeling his wrath. He had lost. He couldn't believe he had lost to someone so uncouth and lacking in true nobility. It was unacceptable. He punched the bag again, harder, and then staggered back, holding his hand.

"Temper temper." A woman's voice said.

He looked over his shoulder and then blinked back in shock. He never thought he'd see the woman again. He never thought- But there she was.

"You have all the right moves, and all the right reasons, but you let your emotions control your actions." Eleven said. "You need to learn to refocus them so you can achieve your goal."

"Is that…" He wasn't even sure he should be talking to her. He swallowed and brushed his hair from his face. "Is that what you did back then?"

Eleven nodded. "I need someone like you."

"Why now?"

"Because you're old enough, and you haven't disappointed me."

The light caught on the lenses of her glasses and he felt a sudden coldness, but under that chill, under that Aretha had found warmth. He didn't understand it, but he wanted to learn.

****

"Why do you love her," Roche asked as he took the piece of fabric from Aretha's hands.

She stared off for a moment and then said, "She is frightening, and powerful, but that's not why. Despite what you hear about her she's just a lost princess in a dark wood, and I love her because she isn't afraid to let me help guide her. She isn't-" She hugged Roche close. "Aside from you, she's the only one to ever see my worth, and appreciate it. Cherish it."

He nodded and pulled a piece of candy from his pocket. He offered it to her.

"It's cherry," he said.

****

He had never gone to the funeral when it was held, and he had avoided the cemetery for years. But he was going back to White Fang and he decided he should remember why he was working for Eleven in the first place. He gritted his teeth tightly to keep from crying at the immaculate state of the grave. Fresh flowers adorned it. They were posies, her favorite. He shut his eyes tightly.

"You thought I'd forget."

Roche opened his eyes and saw Une. It was not Eleven. He nodded. He never thought anyone ever kept Aretha's memory but himself. After having seen Hilde in the organization he was utterly certain, but then Eleven had kept that bit of fabric.

"Eleven never forgets anything, Roche," Une said. "And I won't ever forget her either."

His fists were tight balls, his knuckles turning white.

"Emotion," Une said. "You're doing better, but, Roche, there's a difference between repression and control."

He sank to his knees and let out a cry. Then he began to weep. When he could stop he looked up and wiped his eyes dry with his hands.

"I'm sorry…Lady."

Une sighed. "Her errant knight." She covered her mouth with a gloved hand for a moment and then said, "We've done what we could for you. I'm not sure it was enough."

"What's enough?" He asked and then stood back up. He looked over at Une and tried to find Eleven, for a moment he thought he caught the same chill. "Do I disappoint?"

"No, you exceed."

****

The park was dark and cold. Aretha had led Roche to a small covering of trees where there was a pile of old blankets. She sat down and started arranging them. She looked up and waved him over. He sat next to her and she hugged him close as she lied down.

"We'll find a better place tomorrow so Dekim won't find you," Aretha whispered. "Try and get some sleep."

Roche yawned and nodded. He shut his eyes and dreamed of his mother, but she had Aretha's face.


	41. Measured by the Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre makes a demand on his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Iria had seen death snatch people before their time over and again. That morning the girl with leukemia. The nurses had been crying. It wore down on them.

She made a few notes in the chart, then glanced at the man in the bed. Her vision blurred. She wondered how many pills she had taken. The buzz was wearing off and she might have lost-time at the end of the procedure. Her memory had holes in it. How had they moved to the empty recovery room? Yet, here she was.

Some people got rare second chances. She casually noted the pale scar on their John Doe's throat. She'd heard about that evening in pieces of conversation with Eleven or Hilde or Jo... a strange way for a relationship to start. But they'd all taken risks which were far from normal, and made it through somehow.

_Third chances?_ she wondered. _How many do we get?_

The heartbeat fluttered on the monitor, but pulsed steadily. All he had to do was wake up.

"What are you going to do with this one?" she asked the unconscious body.

***

She drank a full glass of water then splashed more on her face. Her muscles ached and her eyelids stayed closed longer than they were open. Immediately upon leaving that room, she found herself in the clutches of her younger brother.

"Iria!" he said, rather excitably, moreso than she'd ever seen him before.

"Quatre." She glanced around them to see if anyone was paying attention. She didn't talk about her family to her co-workers and didn't want to have to explain the similar shape to their eyes and the matching noses that turned up at the tip.

He also took inventory of their surroundings while dropping his hands. Tilting his head Quatre added, "We need privacy, but a friend of mine needs special care."

"Of course." She calculated how many more pills she could take. What hadn't she tried that might give her a boost? She tried not to think of when she'd started this shift. Maybe she should risk mixing.

Then she heard the cry of absolute pain and saw the lanky form being supported between two others.

"Is that?" She stared at Quatre in alarm. "But we're not ready... I haven't had time."

"The time is now," Quatre said resolutely. "We may be blood, but he means more to me than a brother. Or a sister."

"Stop it," Iria frowned. "I'll do my job, regardless of threats."

He nodded, then went back to the people around Trowa Barton. Iria listened as they called each other by name in their conversation. The immediacy of their concern throwing them all off their game. Which was just as well, in her opinion. She stood in front of Trowa, who wasn't trying to use his legs at all. She touched his face. Fever. His neck. Pulse was frantic.

"We'll take him from here," she said, with determination to match that of the person called Heero. He was a dark-haired Asian man and kept a rather possessive grip on Trowa until he was certain the orderly could manage Trowa's weight.

"Can't trust you with a simple guideline," Heero said to Duo.

The other man crossed his arms and flared his nostrils. "How were we supposed to know Trowa was going to show up in that warehouse of _all places_. He was squared away in the city for the night. No leads to take him to the White Fang gathering _at all_."

"I want to go with him," a different, female voice said.

Iria was still checking Trowa's immediate symptoms. The tall man whimpered at the slightest touch to his face or scalp. She looked up and saw the worried expression of a woman with a similar shape to her jaw as Trowa's. The lips were the same bow-shape, but different too in some fashion. Iria wondered if this was what people saw when she stood next to Quatre. Siblings.

"I'm pretty sure you're the cause of this," Iria said, bluntly. Then to the orderly, "Take him, I'll be right behind you." She squared her shoulders ready to prevent Three's sister from going any further.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Catherine," Duo added his opinion.

"I don't care," Catherine said. Her arms stiffened and changed into fists. "This whole mess has kept us apart for far too long. I'm not _not_ going to be there for him anymore."

"Iria," Quatre interjected. "She can't do any more harm, can she?"

"At this point?" Iria thought about the records and data she'd reviewed. "No... nothing could be worse." She sighed. "Come along then."

"Thank you." Catherine followed where they had taken her brother.

"Not you," Iria told the others. "I don't care if you were Thirteen, the President and the Lord Almighty, this is _my_ hospital." She calmed herself. She needed medication or to sleep for a week. While they stared at her, she added, "Or visit room Three Twelve. You know the guy in there and you can sit out of the way."

Then she hurried to her patient.

***

"This is depressing," Duo said, flipping through a magazine he'd grabbed from one of the waiting rooms.

He sat in one of the chairs. Quatre had somehow managed to bring his laptop and was doing some sort of work. Heero leaned against the windowsill staring into the street.

Duo glanced around waiting for a reaction that didn't come. Then he continued, "I mean, stuck here with a comatose nobody. Not seeing you guys..."

"Don't talk about Danya like that," Quatre said. His fingers didn't miss a beat in their typing.

"Next time, we'll tell Eight to cut you deeper," Heero growled. He checked his cell phone and started to text a message back.

"You're lucky I know you love me," Duo grimaced. He went back to his magazine.

***

"The scans are good," Iria said with no small measure of relief. "I had one of the best doctors come in and check all the readings. Trowa's going to be okay. In fact," She bit her lip briefly. "I think he's going to be back to normal.The last tests he had with Five were full of anomalies, which are gone. Just... gone."

"So he'll remember me?" Catherine sank into the chair of the lab where she and Iria had sat in uncomfortable silence waiting for the results.

"He could. It might take time. The mind makes these connections on such fragile mapping. Then to lose that and gain it back. It might be a lot for him to put together. I'm..." Iria paused. "I'm not making a lot of sense to myself right now."

"You've done so much for us. Thank you," Catherine stood up then and embraced Iria.

"We can take him to a bed."

"I think I know who'll comfort him the most," Catherine put a finger to the side of her nose and managed a feeble, hopeful smile.

"The guy in Three Twelve?"

"The guy in Three Twelve."

***

"We'll call you," Duo promised Heero's back as the other man left. The information about Trowa's likely recovery was enough to put One at ease. He had some place to be so he went. "Just like that guy." Duo shook his head going to stand next to Catherine.

"It's so good to see him again," Cathy murmured. She reached out, hesitating only slightly before pushing Trowa's hair back from his face.

"He's not going to just wake up if you stand here staring at him," Duo teased. He glanced at Quatre who was still typing on the laptop. He paused now, as if waiting a response, before putting his fingers to pace again.

"Oh, he isn't?"

Catherine's comment got Duo's attention. Two wondered if they should step back. What if Iria had been wrong about Trowa's reaction to Catherine? The first time had been traumatic enough. Her fear had shaken Duo more than he cared to admit. Usually she was so much stronger and determined and unbreakable.

"Hey, there," Cathy said to her brother.

Trowa's eyes opened only to close again. His arm moved under the blanket, then was still.

Quatre closed the laptop and went to stand at the foot of the bed. He glanced over at Nichol. Duo couldn't quite think of the older man as _Danya_, besides Three had never called him that.

"Should we call Iria?" Quatre asked. But Duo knew it wasn't a question. Quatre didn't ask questions anymore. It wasn't like before. Things had changed since they were young.

"I'm not leaving," Duo answered, draping his arm over Catherine's shoulder.

"Come on," Cathy whispered. "Please wake up."

"Sis?" Trowa said then. Small muscles on his face were consciously trying his reflexes. Eventually, he smiled. His eyelashes fluttered.

"Don't get so close." Catherine pushed Duo back. "Give him room to breathe."

Iria did come in then, followed by Quatre who seemed to be able to make people materialize on his command. Duo studied his former blonde ally with detachment. Quatre glanced at Danya more often than the others.

"Looking good, Mr. Barton," Iria said. She was checking vitals. "Would you like to sit up?" She adjusted the bed when he nodded.

Trowa opened his eyes and glanced at each of them. "Duo. Quat."

"Hey," Quatre smiled brightly. "Good to have you back."

"Sorry to bother you," Trowa said, a little bewildered. He glanced at Cathy, almost bashfully. "Hey, it must have been bad to have you running. What happened to me?"

Catherine glanced at the rest of them then left as the spokesperson she said, "It was a job, but you're not injured. You'll be absolutely fine. Everything's... normal." She sighed.

"Good," Trowa nodded. He lifted his hand to touch his forehead. "Good. It feels like a bee hive in here."

"I can give you something for that." Iria moved away from the bed and went into the hall.

"Oh," Trowa looked at Nichol. "I didn't realize we weren't alone."

"Trowa?" Quatre pointed at the other bed. "You don't know who that is?"

Trowa raised his brows and looked long and hard. "No, should I?"

***

"I'm taking him with me," Catherine had said resolutely. "He's going to stay with me for a while and then I'll let him come back. _If he wants._"

Duo whistled, "Catherine, you know who you're talking to right. Quat is..."

Quatre glanced between them, but Catherine's fury hadn't lessened. He nodded, "Alright. It's probably for the best, considering how things worked out."

Catherine drooped into absolute relief. "You won't stop us?"

"He'll come back," Quatre commented. "And Sally's murder is always going to irk you, I'd imagine."

They'd stepped outside to confirm in private what they were going to do next. Trowa's recovery was unpredictable at best. He shouldn't have recovered. He shouldn't have been able to see Catherine and survive the mental damage of the breaks in forced compartmentalization.

Quatre stayed behind as they arranged transportation and Trowa was released quickly. The hospital would lose the records and if would be as if Three had never been there.

"What about this one?" Iria asked. Her face was impossibly pale.

"You look like a panda," Quatre observed quietly. "Go home. Rest."

He looked at Nichol. "I'll take care of him. Trowa... well, Trowa would kill me if I didn't."

"Okay, you rest too," Iria suggested. "Genetic traits suggest you'll be looking like a panda shortly too."

"Yeah, whatever," Quatre grinned.

After Iria left, Quatre went to sit by the window.

"Just you and me, huh, Danya?" Quatre said into the room. He watched through the open door as the regular staff went about their rounds. "Don't worry too much. I know all the advantages of being forgotten."

He leaned his head back to look at the ceiling. "It'll be good to have company."


	42. Complex Patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iria just wants to get some rest, but everything in her life, even the simple things, is complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Iria's relationships were complicated. She had never meant them to be, but they turned that way no matter who it seemed to be with. She was over tired. Looking in her bathroom mirror she saw the panda her brother had mentioned. She sighed.

Complications… her brother, Treize, Hilde, Eleven, and Jo were all complications.

There was a knock at her door and her shoulders suddenly ached from stress she had been ignoring from pulling a- Double? Triple? How many shifts had she worked? And too many pills which she really regretted.

She shuffled to the door and opened it.

"Jo?"

Josephine Une leaned in the doorway, unaccompanied. She looked very tired.

"Can I come in?" Une asked, softly.

Iria nodded.

Une entered and Iria shut the door. She watched as Jo shuffled to the couch and sat down, hand over her eyes.

"You look tired," Jo said. "I'm sorry. I know you haven't been getting enough time to yourself."

Iria shrugged, but it was true. She sat next to Une who immediately leaned into her, and any irritation at the intrusion melted away. There was Jo, just Jo, tired and, from the sound of the deep breath she had just taken, sad, troubled.

"Did you know?"

"What?" Iria asked as she ran her thumb down Josephine's cheek.

"About the switch in my head."

Iria blinked and shook her head. She felt herself tensing and Une hugged her tightly.

"Eleven is an asset," she said bitterly.

There were parts of Iria that had suspected, but there was more of her so enraged that she just couldn't speak.

"I didn't think you knew." Une sighed. "I'm tired."

"Let's go to bed then."

****

The problem Iria faced whenever she woke up next to Une in the morning was whether Jo or Eleven would greet her. She was still a little too tired to really care and lay in bed loosely held in Une's arms. She only opened her eyes when she heard the sigh, but did not turn to see who it was.

"Once I loved this girl and went nuts when she was killed," Eleven said softly. She didn't tighten her grip when she felt Iria tense up. She shut her eyes and continued, "Maybe that's when they did it."

Iria blinked and then asked, "The one they never talk about?"

"Yes."

"What do you want, Eleven?"

"What Jo wanted last night?" She took a deep breath and then said, "I just need to hold onto something real for a while."

Iria shut her eyes and tried to relax. She felt the difference in the way she was held. "Tell me about her."

"Who?" Eleven asked.

"The girl you loved."

Eleven nudged her nose into the back of Iria's neck and then nipped with her teeth at the skin. "She smelled like cherries and number two pencils. She met a bad end by bad people."

Iria took a deep breath. "You hate it too, don't you, being at someone's beck and call?"

"I hate that I have to share space, and lovers. Do you really want to hear about it?"

She wiggled out of Eleven's hold and turned over so that she was facing her. She draped her arm back over Eleven's waist and said, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Jo won't tell me even though she remembers."

Eleven's eyes went wide for a moment and then shut. She huffed. "I should tell Hilde too, but-"

"But?"

She swallowed. "Iria, we're losing in the game that's being played. We won't stand to lose more than our lives, Jo and I." She opened her eyes, cold and hard. Then she blinked and said, "There was once a Number who never was…"

****

Iria slept through her alarm and the call from the hospital. She woke up alone in her bed, but found Hilde in her living room. She shook her head. She was still tired.

"I…I didn't want to wake you," Hilde said softly. "I think…Was that- Eleven let me in."

"Right." She tried to shake herself awake.

"She seemed…strange." Hilde said and then asked, "What did I miss?"

"A good night's sleep, followed by a very sad and frightening bedtime story."

"In that order?"

"Yes." Iria took a seat on her couch and pulled the blanket draped over it onto her legs. She pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest and looked at Hilde, but almost as if for the first time. "We need to talk, you and I."

Hilde nodded. "The story?"

"More than that." She sighed and then said, "Be a dear, order us take out. I'm calling in sick and taking a very long shower."

"Right."

_Complicated_, Iria thought. _It's all too complicated._


	43. The Number that Wasn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Aretha's life amid the streets and the Numbers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Dekim Barton was an old man who might have once been great, but now he was reduced to running a petty ring of elementary school pickpockets. His greatest dues came from the OZ or even the Alliance if he happened to turn over a really good looking kid with potential to join their ranks. Otherwise he pulled in pocket change and bigger rackets ignored him.

He had been denied his due in concerns to Aretha Walker and so he felt he had to approach her. She was more important than he was, but only just. He would humble himself before her and perhaps she would be generous, after all she owed him so much.

He found Aretha in the park sitting on a bench and eating a bowl of instant strawberries and cream oatmeal. She was dressed like nearly every other teenager he had ever met, black jeans, blue t-shirt, jean jacket with random patches and pins, and maroon canvass high top sneakers. She was mid-bite and saw that he was approaching her. He wasn't going to sneak, and at his age he wasn't as good at creeping up behind people as he used to be.

She finished her bite and then set the paper bowl down next to her and crossed her arms over her chest. A dark eyebrow rose when he smiled at her.

"Ah, dear Aretha," he began, "it's been so long."

"Not long enough." She replied. "Well, let's cut the niceties, what do you want?"

"My due."

Aretha was agog. "Your due?

"As my finest student, now working for the OZ, I went to try and collect on you. They refused me, but how can they? I taught you everything you know."

"The only thing you taught me was how to get caught. The rest I learned on my own." She shook her head. "The OZ owe you nothing."

He nodded and scowled. "But you owe me, Aretha. You took that boy from me. Shouldn't I get something for giving you a pupil?"

Aretha stood up and brushed her hair out of her face. "I'm not teaching him how to steal, Dekim."

"But you are teaching him." He grinned.

She hated that grin. She looked around. Roche had already told her that Dekim had been around, poking his nose about.

"He's working for that new group now. Talk to them if you want your due. I'm sure they'll give it to you in spades." She walked off.

Dekim Barton growled and stomped off to his lair in the city and his children. This one was getting away and there was nothing he could do about it. Perhaps if he found a high ranking patron he could manage something, but there was no one who would take him on.

****

She was good at the bump and grab.

Aretha would skip along and bump into some tourist (always a tourist never someone who looked like they lived in the city) grab his wallet and then skip off like nothing had happened. She kept an eye out for cops and made sure any who were wise to her where well compensated for looking the other way.

She was a smart kid and she was only nine, having escaped from Dekim after nearly getting caught.

An officer on the beat saw her looking through a wallet. He approached and she smiled up at him.

"That yours?" The officer asked.

"Yes." Aretha said.

"Prove it."

She shrugged and held out a hundred dollar bill.

"I see. Well that's some good I.D. you have there."

She grinned and waggled her eyebrows at him. "Thank you sir." She deftly placed the bill into his hands. "Know where a kid can get a decent hair cut?"

He looked her over and nodded. "There's a place on third. The barber can give you whatever look you want. I'd suggest short if you mean to be staying out on these streets."

Aretha nodded. That was her plan. It would be better to pass her self off as a boy for as long as she could. It would draw less attention to her, and then the real freaks and pimps would leave her alone. She had a plan though for when she found herself more grown up.

****

The OZ recruiter was looking for extra hands on a jewel heist. He'd found a safe cracker to try out, but he needed good quick little hands. Aretha approached him and immediately proved her worth by handing him his watch, keys, knife, and wallet. He blinked, and she was definitely in.

"You ever steal a car," he asked trying to discern a sex under the androgynous layers of clothing.

"Once, but it went all wrong," she said. "I've been working on it though."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

The recruiter nodded. "Right, right…" He looked her over. "You need better clothes. I know this place."

"I bet you do."

****

"Hey, boss," Aretha called as she knocked and entered the small office with a tray of coffee. "Burning the midnight oil?" She set the tray down.

Eleven looked up at her over the top of her glasses and grinned as Aretha poured her a cup of coffee and placed it in front of her.

"Uh, boss?"

"Yes, Miss Walker?" Eleven took a sip from the coffee and looked back down at the plans for the bank she had been given.

"I was wondering if I could have a day off."

Eleven sat back in her chair and tilted her head to the side. "Don't you have one?"

Aretha chuckled. "Not really." She shook her head. "It's just for tomorrow."

"Family matter?"

"Something like that."

"Take one of the cars." Eleven said and then looked back down at the plans. She remembered not to over react when she was seized in what Aretha tried to pass off as a bear hug.

"Thank you, boss."

****

The Numbers bar was generally full of noise, and the noise was either a fight, or really loud celebratory toasting, or equally loud mourning, and sometimes all three at once. Aretha did not want to do it, but the very large man who was fond of musicals kept daring her as he drunkenly leaned into the bar.

"Do it," he said. "Do the thing with the watch." He held up his hand. "You can even try and take mine."

She rolled her dark eyes and nodded. She leaned into him and then stepped back with his watch dangling from her hand. Then she remembered why she hated sloppy forgetful drunks.

"Hey! She stole my watch!" He lunged at her.

Aretha jumped out of his way and realized she'd jumped a little too far. Someone caught her, someone not too much bigger than she was, but she was always tiny so everyone was bigger than her, and definitely female. She was set gently on the ground and then watched as one of the most badass Numbers she had heard of took the charging bulk of a man out with one punch.

She was certain she had a rather impressive and sloppy grin on her face. The woman turned back toward her and straightened out the line of her suit as well as readjusting her fedora.

"To be fair," Aretha said with an amused grin, "I did steal his watch."

"Why?"

"Girls got to eat, and-"

"Then you should stop stealing and start assisting," the woman replied and then reached out and pulled Aretha into a kiss.

It was the most unexpected thing she had ever experienced in her life. Someone was making catcalls about the public spectacle, but Aretha was suddenly too busy to care.

****

Eleven was awesome and scary and powerful and cold, but she was also surprisingly loyal and seductive and caring and generous. Aretha never thought that one kiss in a bar would lead to the current relationship she was in, and the confirmation of stories she had heard. Eleven was split. Others called her broken or mad, but Aretha saw the complexities of it. She understood why it could happen, and she honestly preferred Eleven to the softer Lady. Eleven's motives were clear, concise and well thought out. The Lady seemed to flutter about too much.

Other things were revealed to her as well, especially that first night she slept over in the same bed as Eleven. There was a way you learned to sleep when you grew up on the streets. It was a protected and light sleep system that maintained heat which was one of the most important things on the cold streets. That residual from a life on the streets still clung to Eleven even after years of privilege, and it added a sense of protection Aretha hadn't felt in a very long time.

Eleven understood what it was to struggle and scrape. Eleven understood how hard it was to get by without falling into deadlier traps than just having to sleep behind alleys and trash bins.

Aretha had her eyes shut as she lay stretched out on her back. She tried not to imagine how much the black sheets had cost.

"I'd like to play a little game," Eleven whispered.

"Oh." She grinned and opened her eyes.

Eleven dangled a length of blue ribbon from her hands.

_All things cold, but soft and light as air_, Aretha thought and then said, "What's the game?"

"Lovely Captive."

She bit at her bottom lip and grinned. "Lovely?"

"Absolutely," Eleven said and kissed Aretha as she bound the young woman's hands together with the ribbon.

****

Looking up and down the rich suburb street Aretha determined it was safe to reach up and grab the ripe cherries that were dangling over the edge of the fence. She swiped eight and then had to run like the dickens when she heard a shout behind her. She ducked down under a low hanging tree branch and then slid down into the creek.

With her treasures she hid under a small foot bridge and savored the sweet taste of the year's first cherries. Those were always the best. Then she counted the pits and tried to remember the rhyme her father would tell her when they were out in the country and he was working that farm.

"Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man, thief," she sang and counted the cherry stones in her hand. She blinked and wondered if that were right. "When shall I marry? This year, next year, sometime, never." She repeated the verse and thought that eight was a very unlucky number.

****

Lady Une stood at the foot of the grave. She had placed a bouquet of posies and a small basket of cherries by the headstone. She looked at the name and shut her eyes, feeling a squeeze at her hand. She looked over and her lips drew up as if to smile, but stopped mid-way.

"It was selfish of me to keep her to myself," Une said.

"You did everything you could to protect her and made sure the price was paid for her death," Hilde said still holding Une's hand in her own.

"It wasn't enough."

"It never could be." Hilde looked at the grave and the faded black and white photo. It wasn't a very good picture of the young woman. She tried to ignore the resemblance to herself. "What was best about her?"

"She wasn't afraid."

****

Aretha wasn't afraid.

She was angry.

She felt foolish, but mostly she was angry. She was angry because she was going to die and the sick fucks who had her just didn't comprehend what they were doing. So even when she would eventually have to scream, and she knew she would, she just prayed that it would release as anger and not fear.

She wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction.

She was so angry.

Angry because she wasn't sure she could actually manage it as she wished.

****

Otto could lift Aretha over his head with one hand. He did it with her consent to prove it to the others in the group. And everyone laughed because she acted as if she were bored out of her mind about the trick. She was though. She smiled and winked when he put her down.

She sighed and sauntered over to the back corner of the bar where Eleven preferred to sit.

"You don't have to placate them," Eleven said.

Aretha shrugged and straddled Eleven's lap. "I bet you could pull the same feat. It'd be a better trick then." She grinned and leaned in to kiss Eleven.

Eleven was looking else where.

"Are your favorite people back?" She asked. "When you ignore them you win."

"I know, but sometimes you have to throw a gauntlet down so that people learn their manners." Eleven said as she reached out and touched Aretha's cheek with her hand.

"Like a damsel in distress will my dark knight fight for my honor," she asked and then leaned forward to whisper, "I'd fight for yours. Just point me at them, boss. I'll take them down."


	44. Hostage to the Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trowa's friends learn that he has a very different sort of problem than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

He didn't know how to ask for what he wanted. When he fell asleep, he had dreams about conversations he would never have. When he was awake, he'd been taken away from the place that had become _home_ over the past year. During the day, he was asked to _stay put_ while they figured out arrangements.

"Why can't I just go?" he had asked.

Quatre had smiled sadly. Then said something that came through Nichol's ears as if muffled. "You're too important. And, not important at all."

Nichol understood the feeling. Then he was alone.

***

_"Can you walk home or do you need a cab?"_

Trowa glanced around, not sure if he'd heard the voice or imagined it. He'd been staying with Catherine, a much needed vacation from the job. And the other job. And the _other_ other job. It was a lot to keep track of, but that's what Trowa did best. He didn't have long to wonder about the memory as an immediate presence shouted from the hall.

"Unkie!" Catherine's daughter ran into the room and spotted Trowa standing near the window. He wouldn't admit that he'd been hiding from her, but even his energy had limits.

"Lonnie!" Trowa knelt down and let the girl embrace him around the neck.

"Why didn't you come visit before?" She tilted her head. She pushed dark curls away from her face. Brown eyes studied Trowa's features as if she might grow up to learn every nuanced expression Trowa might have.

"You look..." _Who's face was that?_ "So much like your daddy," Trowa murmured.

"Daddy?" Lonnie wrinkled her nose. "He's got the funny smell."

Trowa wondered about that comment. Lonnie's father, who she was named after, had died in Catherine's kitchen after he had been stabbed to death. Lonnie hadn't been born.

"Ah, I've found you." Duo appeared in the doorway. His braid was coming loose, obviously from too much play with Trowa's niece.

"Daddy!" Lonnie pried herself free from Trowa and ran to her other favorite person.

Trowa gave Duo an accusing look. _"Daddy?"_

"She started it," Duo said, raising his hands in surrender. Even without his support, Lonnie successfully dangled from Duo's neck. Her fingers laced tightly around the person she claimed. "Besides, Catherine thinks it's funny."

"I wouldn't be laughing," Trowa warned. "My sister will make you follow up on that."

"You know her pretty well, don't you?" Duo asked, pointedly. He swayed, making Lonnie squeal and swing like a pendulum. But his expression was curious in a fashion Trowa couldn't discern.

"Of course, Cathy is Cathy..." Trowa didn't know what else to say.

"Of course," Duo smiled.

***

"This room would work." Quatre walked across the wooden floor. Like the rest of the building, the walls were perfectly white. A few pieces of furniture needed taken out and a bed set put in. Along with what few belongings they could steal away from Trowa Barton's apartment.

"I still don't see why he has to come here," Dorothy complained. "I'm sure that Treize could accommodate Trowa's boyfriend."

Quatre sighed, "This isn't the sort of thing we need to bother Thirteen with. Or mention at all," he added the last. He'd repeated the phrase over and over. Dorothy would understand secrecy in general, but from Treize was harder. And Quatre needed Thirteen not to pay too much attention to this kindness.

But taking Nichol in was not a kindness actually, no matter how it looked from the outside.

"Why?" she asked, getting too close to the right sort of question. "Why does it have to be you?" Her aim got closer. "Are you loosing interest in me? Is he something you want?"

"Way off target there," Quatre grinned. She visibly relaxed, but her eyes drifted along the floor as if she might spot the truth somewhere in the open. He walked over to her and lifted her chin with his hand. "Dorothy, I have a feeling that you'll get along. Or if you don't, then you don't have to see him whatsoever. I'll make sure of it."

She grinned to one side of her face. "I thought it was my job to take care of you."

"Still is." He dropped his hand and looked around. "I'll send someone up to take care of this for us."

"Aren't you afraid that I might try to seduce the safe cracker?" she chuckled.

Quatre laughed once, "I'm fairly certain that you will."

***

Catherine marked a date on her wall calendar, then hurried to take the buzzing tea kettle from the stove. She poured the hot water into Trowa's mug. He watched as the tea stained the water, pooling outward, red like blood.

While he waited he rubbed his thumb against his left palm as if working away a stain. But he'd just washed his hands. He washed them more often than necessary, but decided it was how he coped with the tensions of the job.

Cathy joined him at the table, briefly glancing at the door when she heard Lonnie shriek followed by a loud crash and Duo yelling that he "got it."

"Only two more days?" she asked again.

"It's the best I can excuse," Trowa replied. "I can't let any of them suspect that you're here. That Lonnie's here. So far it's not been an issue, that I can tell, and I don't want that to change because I got sloppy."

"I don't know how you keep it all balanced in that noggin' of yours." Catherine had both hands around her mug. Her eyelids drooped as she looked into the glass.

"It's not so bad," Trowa consoled. "Alliance here, OZ there... but in here?" He tapped his heart. "Clear as day who I am."

"Clear as day," Cathy sniffed. Was she crying?

"Hey, Catherine..."

"No, no... I'm fine. Don't worry. I just hadn't heard you say... well, put it that way."

"Of course, that's what I always tell you. Or don't you listen to me?" He took a hesitant drink, the red drink only tasted like tea.

"Just be careful, you hear me?"

Trowa wanted to tell her that she laid it on too thick sometimes. But kept the thought to himself. "Two days. But I'll be back."

"When?"

That was one question he never had the answer to.

***

"How long?" Nichol asked.

Quatre winced, "You don't have to shout." The other man flushed purple where he wasn't as pale as a sheet. Quatre wondered how quickly he could move to catch the man if Nichol lost his balance. The ride from the hospital had so far been uneventful, but Iria had warned him to watch for sudden changes. Nichol's skin sparkled with sweat just from walking from the car and taking the elevator to the second floor of Dorothy's building.

"He should be fine, in a few days," Iria had said.

Nichol was also partially deaf in his right ear. That recovery was still in question.

"How long?" Nichol repeated, still misjudging his volume but it was an improvement.

"For a while." Quatre didn't have an answer.

"Where is he?" That question was a hoarse whisper.

"He's okay."

"You keep saying that, but I'm starting to not believe you," Nichol scowled. "I want to see him."

Quatre replied wearily, "I want you to also. But you need to have patience." Quatre blew out a long sigh. The room had transformed rather nicely. A small cardboard box held a few belongings that they'd guessed were Nichol's from the mess that was Trowa's apartment.

Nichol looked inside and drew out the stethoscope with a blank expression. Then he smirked, "You thought I used this for _safe cracking_?"

Quatre shrugged.

"Trowa liked to play _doctor_," Nichol grumbled, fixing a glare on his host. "He liked to listen to my heartbeat during sex." He tossed the device back in the box and stomped over to Quatre. "Where is he?"

"With Catherine," Quatre relented. The probability of Nichol escaping had reduced exponentially now that he was in Four's security. The truth shouldn't make him a flight risk. Some of it, anyway.

"Oh," Nichol whispered. "Oh. I see." He turned around, fidgeted with the box, then carried it to the open closet. After setting the box inside, he closed the door. "I guess I couldn't compete with her."

"No one can," Quatre said, short on sympathy.

***

Trowa stuck the drawing Lonnie did onto his fridge with a magnet. The emerald rainbow and pink pony were a slight exaggeration on an otherwise realistic crayon masterpiece. He traced his fingers along the picture. Glancing around, he wondered why he only had the one.

Duo had done the driving and invited himself up to the apartment too, which Trowa realized when he walked back into the livingroom to see Duo stuffing something into his pocket.

"Is that mine?" Trowa asked. For some reason, his apartment looked like a tornado had hit. He had a fuzzy memory of causing the mess, but he didn't want to lose anything important in the clean up either.

"Who?" Duo flinched, his posture that of someone very caught-in-the-act.

"Who?" Trowa shook his head. "_What's_ in your pocket?"

"Nothing," Duo chuckled nervously, scratching his head. He pulled out the paper which was nothing more than a large shape made out of pencil lead. Almost as if someone was trying to sharpen the pencil without having the proper equipment. In one corner was written a word, which Duo had covered with his thumb.

"Hand it over." Trowa reached for the paper. Maybe it was something of Lonnie's.

Duo daintily held it out by the corner as if the drawing might explode.

"_Nichol_?" Trowa read. He winced briefly at a quick pain that prickled his forehead. Then he handed the paper back. "What's the big deal?"

"Nothing, nothing at all." Duo folded it away and then casually surveyed the room as if looking for something else.

"Two," Trowa warned. "It's because of my sister that I'm tolerating you this much."

"Yeah, I bet you feel like mopping the floor with my severed head," Duo laughed.

"What? Why?" Trowa felt a little ill at the notion. "Get lost."

"Leaving!" Duo waved frantically and scampered out the door.

Sighing, Trowa sat in the only chair and he stared at the drafting table. When had he last had time to do art? His own art? Between the Alliance, the Numbers, the FBI and, now, White Fang... he'd had a lot to distract him. Trowa found a worn down pencil and pulled out a blank page. He moved the chair to the table and let his pencil hover over the page. It felt good, in just that moment, to let his imagination roll freely through the pictures in his head.

He saw a face. Lips first, for some reason. Then his intuition carried the visual into an almost tangible sensation. Kissing.

He must really need to get laid.

Trowa opened his eyes and drew brown eyes. And dark hair. Briefly, he set his pencil down and rubbed at his temples.

What had he been doing? He looked at what he had and the best guess he had was that he'd started a portrait of Lonnie. Except her hair was way too short. He erased what almost looked like sideburns.

Chuckling to himself, Trowa fixed the shape of the eyes. He definitely was out of practice to have gotten Lonnie so wrong.

The phone rang.

"Three?"

"Yes," Trowa answered.

"We have a job for you."


	45. Eighth Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight steps up her game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

Rashid watched the two women in the ring together and finally crossed his arms over his chest and said in a clear and loud voice, "Stop flittering with each other and fight!"

The smaller of the female fighters laughed and finally made a real swing that connected a little too well with her opponent.

"Thank you, Miss Schbieker." Rashid said and watched as the taller of the women swayed slightly and then moved forward. "You've been away too long Miss Winner. Your dance is a mess."

****

The man in the long trench coat seemed taken aback at the news. "But I need-"

"I can take care of whatever it is you need," Hilde said firmly and sat back in her chair. "Unfortunately, Ms. Une is busy for the duration of the day. If you can not ask this request of me then I wonder at its importance."

The man sighed. "It is important I just…"

Hilde narrowed her eyes slightly and asked, "I'm a secretary because I want to be. Do not mistake that position as a reflection of my skills."

"Of…Of course. I'm sorry Miss Schbieker." He held out a red folder. "This is the request from Seventy-two."

"Thank you." She took the folder and grinned. "You can go now."

****

Hilde wasn't a big person in size, and her personality while generally endearing wasn't exactly fearsome. But there was, Eleven's men had quickly discovered, under the pixie like features of her face and tone an ability to be just as frightening, decisive, and effective as Eleven. It just came in a different package and with a slightly different style.

She wasn't fond of the same methods employed by Eleven. Eight preferred to talk and somehow the tone of her voice conveyed a sense of power and impending terror that Eleven elicited from picking up a scalpel.

The man in the chair was whimpering. He wasn't even tied down to it. Hilde leaned against his shoulders from behind and whispered into his ear. The men she had brought with her were already impressed with the results.

"I- I-…" The man cried. "I just know this little bit."

"That's fine." Hilde said and smiled. Her tone was almost chipper. "Just write it all down and after you've finished you'll be through."

He nodded and then asked, "I'm going to die aren't I?"

"Yes," Eight confirmed. "You are going to die, but you were dead the moment you decided money was worth more than your loyalty."

She moved away and stepped over to one of her men, well they were hers for the time being. "Very clean," she said to the man. "And quick, but check his work first."

The man nodded.

Clean and quick was the reward for writing out the details of a betrayal. Messy and long were the results of any smart-assed attempts to deceive her. So far, she'd only had to over see one messy one, and she did it herself. She felt suddenly much older than she actually was, but she reminded herself that it was what she chose for herself. It was the path she took and she was proceeding down it to make herself stronger. She needed to be able to know for certain that she could do all she could do for Eleven if it came to that.

****

Eleven, or was it Jo (it was hard to tell), was watching from just inside the door, and Hilde wasn't sure why that made kissing Iria more fulfilling. It was though. It was permission, but it was sad, because it meant that Une was making sure neither Hilde nor Iria ended up alone, or without someone to cling to. She didn't like the expectation that things wouldn't or couldn't work out.

Iria suddenly noticed Une's presence and was blushing furiously.

Hilde turned to look and found an unknown expression of calm on the lady's face.

"Don't let me interrupt," Jo said. "I think this is fascinating."

Iria blinked and almost started to mutter something, but Hilde stopped her, kissing her softly. She put her hand over Iria's eyes and whispered, "Let's not waste this moment on fear."

"I hate it when you do that." Iria whispered.

"What?" Hilde dipped her head to kiss along the blonde's jaw.

"Make things feel safe." She tugged Hilde up and took her lips with force.

****

When she overheard the remark Hilde was working with one of the Maganac Corp. on a pugilism exercise. She caught Iria storming off out of the gym and Quatre scratching the back of his head out of the corner of her eye. She almost let herself get caught in a hold but wrangled her way out of it. She paused the exercise and stepped up to Quatre.

"I don't have nearly as much power as you do," Hilde whispered. "You could take me down easily, but stop treating your sister like a servant and making threats for any failure not to succeed. It is not going to make her work better or faster for you."

Quatre blinked and his eyes narrowed slightly. Then he grinned and nodded. "I hadn't realized."

"Well, now you do." Hilde sighed. "She's outside this for the most part. She doesn't want all the way in. There will come a time when she'll have to make the bigger choice, but it's hers not ours." She stepped back and then said with a slight smile, "Now, if you'd be so kind to assist me. I need to better my skills."

He nodded.

She turned and went back to her exercises.

"You're much closer than you think," Quatre muttered to himself. "Much closer." He smiled brightly because he approved.

****

Hilde sat at her desk with her head in her hands as she stared down at a copied police report regarding the crime scene of Five's death. She felt she saw something that was meant to be hidden, but she wasn't sure what it was. Her eyes drifted down towards one of the crime scene photos and suddenly she sat up with the photo in her hands. She looked at a small corner of the photo.

"Is that-"

The door to the office opened and Eleven eyed her curiously. She stepped over to the desk and sat on the corner of it.

"Well," Eleven asked, "do you see it, Eight?"

"A mask, it's reflected in that piece of glass."

Eleven grinned and nodded. "When I have that mask, I'll have him."

"What do you need me to do?"

"No, for this," Eleven said, "you need to tell me."

Hilde blinked and then said, "I think Alex and Mueller need to play in the forest some."

"And how do we rope them in?"

Hilde chuckled. "The way you get any kids to do anything. You tell them to stay out of it."

Eleven beckoned Hilde with her finger and the young woman took a half step over, suddenly pulled by the lapels on her jacket very close to Eleven's face.

"Do you wish you weren't good at this?" Eleven asked softly.

"Yes."

"Good. The minute you're proud of the things you have to do in this world is when you're through. Jo would rather be a charitable attorney than a feared mobster."

"What about you," Hilde asked. "What would you rather be?"

Eleven blinked and shook her head. She held to Hilde tightly and kissed her. "I can't tell you that."


	46. Four is the Loneliest Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trowa salvages a botched mission. He's not the only one searching for an alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

"Aren't you just the image of seduction?" Dorothy found Nichol barefoot, legs sprawled and sitting half propped up by pillows on his bed. He glanced up from where he'd been adjusting the dial on the television box he'd set between his thighs. His hair stuck up flat and drooped noticeably when Nichol's attention went back to the tv. He thumped it once, scowling.

She tried again, "Trowa sunk low when you were gone, but he never slipped this far."

"Yeah, well, not much I can do about that," Nichol muttered. The television sputtered and burst into sound.

"Where did you find that?" Dorothy approached the bed, intrigued by the nobs and the antennae. The screen itself was maybe four inches. No color came to the images.

"What?" Nichol shouted.

"I know for a fact you can hear with your left ear." She shoved his shoulder.

That had been a mistake. A step too far. He rolled out of bed opposite of Dorothy then pointed at her. "Where's Quatre?"

The walls of his room were windowless like every other room in Dorothy's building. From the street, she knew that dark glass was fixed on the outer side to reflect the sun and make the fortress look simple, ordinary. Because of that, Nichol had nowhere to go and the bed was all the distance that he could put between them.

"Quatre? He's somewhere." Dorothy tossed her hair. "Doesn't matter."

"Yes, yes it does." Nichol dropped his arm. "I don't know what really happened, but it's weird. That kid was nobody, your shadow. But I do know that I don't belong here and this is where he brought me. Are you having some sort of issue with Three?"

"Of course not," Dorothy said.

"Does he?" Nichol frowned. "Quatre, I mean. He said he had history with Three."

Dorothy paused, "I wouldn't know about that."

At that confession, Nichol looked up fast and victorious. He didn't know what to do with the information, yet. Dorothy twisted the pause to her advantage, "I came to take you for a walk. If you'll do a job with Four."

Nichol turned pale briefly. Possibly considering how Trowa would react. Being a hostage was one thing, but explaining why he'd cooperated with another Number when he'd been Three's only companion was a dangerous move.

"Let me get dressed," Nichol grumbled.

"Go right ahead."

***

Trowa had slept in the silo stairwell. His left leg was frozen. His right leg numb. He'd followed the small group of White Fang members to the remote gathering place. They'd hastily arranged a meeting and Trowa had crept into the metal construction, close enough to hear and perfectly hidden away.

Somehow he'd gone far off his game.

They were mostly pontificating about injustices in the construction sectors. He'd not been surprised by that information, but then someone crept into Trowa's hiding place and decided to use it as their hideaway for a romantic rendezvous.

Three would have waited until the situation got exciting, and then strangled the lovers. The man first. Trowa could see it in flashes. His thumbs pressing in on vulnerable flesh. Using his knees to hold the man down on his back. Doubting that they'd brought any defensive instruments, he'd simply ignore the woman's screams or shoving until it was her turn next.

Instead, he'd reclined in the shadows, stuck until they finished.

He had to give them credit for endurance. Trowa had closed his eyes. For distraction, he'd calculated his current allies against those he couldn't trust. So many allegiances warranted a spreadsheet, but he could put nothing into reality. Nothing that could be captured and taken from him.

Catherine was gone, along with Duo and his questionable reliability. Heero had quit the Numbers and had Sylvia Noventa in his care.

Trowa peered out to see if the couple had left since Trowa had fallen asleep in his hiding place. He was alone.

Maybe that was his problem. A good second hand would have warned him about the inconvenient White Fang pair in time for Trowa to get out and away.

How had he gotten along this far without someone in his confidence?

Trusting someone was a risk, but Catherine had made it work. Heero did it, too. The cost had to be worth the benefits.

Perhaps it was time to find out.

Trowa stretched his legs. His feet were cold as the dew soaked through his shoes into his socks. He walked to where he'd hidden the car he'd stolen.

_"Why do you insist on the rope? Every time with the cars and the ropes..."_

Trowa swatted at a passing insect which buzzed around his ears. No, the buzzing was in his head.

He turned the engine. When the buzzing resolved into quiet, Trowa reached for the console controls. The radio was broken.

***

"Don't pout," Dorothy viciously teased, irritable as Nichol's gloom refused to subside. "I'm sure that Trowa didn't hold impotence against you..."

"He didn't put me in situations where I was going to fail," Nichol raged. They were in the backseat of a dark car driven by one of the red-capped Maganac Corp. The man in the front glanced in the mirror at their raised voices. Nichol wanted to hit something.

The job had been a restaurant vault. The owner had something that Four wanted or owned, he hadn't really cared. But the club side had been full volume and punctuated his new handicap. He could learn a way around his ears into successful safe cracking. But Dorothy had pushed and pushed him to hurry.

"If you'd just let me do my job." Nichol leaned away and watched the sky turning violet where the sun was rising.

"We'd still be there waiting to get caught." Dorothy was just as tense as he was. He'd assumed she was an experienced Number. He'd always assumed the Numbers were given to people of quality, which was why he'd wanted to be associated with a Number. Until the situation with now-Eight and then it had all been Trowa.

He should run. Even if he only ended up getting shot again, at least Trowa would know that Nichol hadn't been _compliant_. He'd lost track of days. Of time. The sky was brilliantly awake and Nichol's body was confused like he was sleepwalking.

But, regardless of what Quatre said, the story about Catherine just didn't sit right. Nichol had been insecure with Trowa, but it had never been about their relationship. Trowa had always been rather exact about how that stood between them. Catherine, miraculously returned to him, wouldn't have kept Three from hunting down his boyfriend.

Unless, it was part of the unanswered White Fang question.

"Is Trowa dead?" he asked, heavyhearted. "Tell me if he is. Just tell me."

Dorothy said, "It's not that simple."

***

Wufei looked at the paper coffee cup on his desk and looked around for the woman wearing matching lipstick. Mariemaia didn't appear for several minutes. By then, Wufei was almost halfway done with the daily crossword puzzle.

"My favorite villain." He smiled up at her as her arm snaked around to claim her drink.

"Well, you're really not going to like me now," she said with a shaky chuckle.

Mariemaia stood at a distance that perplexed Wufei enough that he stopped tipping his chair backwards and put his full concentration on the young woman. "What is it?"

"They've been given extra funds. Enough to bring in another detective," she explained. Her eyes didn't meet his. They also didn't look at Sally's desk which, up to that point, she'd been more than comfortable in taking over on their projects.

"And?" Wufei prompted.

"And, Wufei..." Mariemaia huffed, then as if making up her mind wheeled out Sally's chair and sat down. "I'm their number one choice."

He turned his head, but kept sitting as he had before. "Surprised?"

"Yes, not that you're going to believe me why."

"It's what you've wanted." Wufei let the idea settle and realized he didn't mind. He didn't mind at all. Mariemaia had been easy to relate to and upfront, even if she was absolutely untrustworthy.

"You're going to say that my father pulled strings, so I could get what I wanted." She took a long drink. Wufei tried not to make it obvious that he'd seen her fingers shaking.

"Maybe." He sat back and looked at the ceiling. "He could have put you here to keep an eye on me. But that's obvious, Mari."

She choked on her drink. When he glanced at her in alarm, she had one hand over her lips. The other waved him to continue. "Wrong pipe," she rasped.

"He'd tried hard to keep you out of the detectives, too," Wufei reasoned. "Either way, his advantage. He's blessing your investigation."

"He's using me," she said quietly. Her shining gaze was fixed on some distant point.

Wufei considered what he should say next. "Mari, you didn't do anything wrong that I can see. And I'd tell you. Let's see this thing through."

"It is what I've wanted," she sniffled. "All I have to do is tell them yes."

He stood up and walked around the desk. His hand reached down to help her up. "Celebratory smoke?"

"You don't..."

"And you should quit. _Tomorrow_..."

"Okay."

***

If Nichol had a chance to run, he didn't see it. The Maganac Corp hats were conspicuously scattered up and down the street. Window-shopping at the tattoo parlor. Reading the paper at the park bench. Talking on a cell phone at the corner of the alley.

He didn't even have to open his own door. He couldn't. He'd tried.

"Watch your head, sir," the polite driver said as he held the way open for Nichol. He walked around the back of the car and met Dorothy at the sidewalk side. Looking up at the building, Nichol remembered when he'd come to confront Quatre about the indecipherable message that Trowa had received. The windows had looked real, but then they weren't. Once inside, a person had absolute isolation from the rest of the world.

No one could peek in the windows and find him.

Dorothy sighed, one last heartbeat before they would go inside. She wasn't thinking about the botched job anymore. That had been, as she put it, _walking the dog_.

But inside the fortress?

"You're as much a prisoner here as I am, aren't you, Dorothy?" he said, heedless of who heard him or told it to anyone else.

"Of course not," she snapped. "Don't be ridiculous."


	47. The Curve of Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zechs has problems with his relationships to people, but wants to understand them, or, at least, one better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

There was a time when he knew he loved her. He was probably sixteen. His future would hold a war that no one would support, and then a number that he wouldn't be sure he had earned until much later. He watched her now from other side of the room while she approached the detective that would become Five. He wondered why he had never known before that moment that he did not love her, not really, not ever.

Millardo sighed and leaned into the wall. He didn't like what he had turned Noin into, or maybe he hadn't turned her, maybe he had just shoved her around till she made the decision on her own.

Eleven's cold eyes were watching him. He could feel it. He hated that woman, but he loved her in a way he could not describe. He thought it might be because in some strange way she had been manipulated and played with as he had. Maybe it was because she was strong without Treize. She was her own person. Persons?

He ignored the woman's prying glances and looked back over at Noin and that detective. That woman was captivated by Noin. She was taken in and he had to leave because he couldn't take it any longer. He didn't want to remember that despite the way he clung to the relationship he had set Noin free years ago.

****

The White Fang bunker was sparse and felt like a barracks, which was appropriate for a terrorist group. They imagined themselves soldiers in some sort of noble war with the world. It was all foolishness. They weren't going to last because they had no power, and despite his promises Zechs wouldn't let them lean all the way on his.

He was reading a journal. It was old and scrawled across in a teenage flourish that had become an elegant hand. Eleven's old journal, Josephine's treasure and thoughts from youth. He'd stolen it ages ago and though she reported it missing, and he knew quite well that she was certain he had taken it, she never pursued the matter past the initial report. He always wondered why.

He had been horrible to her. He wasn't even sorry about it, and couldn't seem to stop himself feom trying to make her lash out and become less than perfect. Zechs understood that she had never tried to be perfect. Zechs understood now that she was always going to be exceptional and important in Treize's world. He, himself, never felt his importance past a few lingering incidents.

Zechs flipped through the pages until he came to an entry he had resented at first. It was just a simple sentence, a question: Why doesn't she fight back?

"Well," Zechs whispered to the room, "she thought she loved me at the time."

He grinned. A sudden flash of memory drifted across his thoughts, Sally falling to her knees, and smiling. She was always smiling, mocking him with her intuition. She knew what he wanted and wouldn't take. And then he thought of the way she so readily agreed to Noin's request to share. Sally's kisses so biting and bitter across his lips, but he took them. He took them to return the dark mocking flutter in his stomach at knowing he was the only man Sally would ever agree to be with.

He was glad he had killed her, but slightly upset by the fact that Noin might try to kill him because of it.

The journal snapped shut in his hands.

"You know what I've done, Josephine. I know you do," he said softly.

The journal never revealed anything he wanted it to. The words there were simple and veiled. He had yet to fully crack the code. He wanted to know why she never tried to take Noin from him, why she was special.

****

One's eyes reminded him of Eleven's. They were clearly very different, but there was a defiance in them when he went after One that was just about the same. He wanted to possess those eyes, that young man who hated him. One was equal to him. One was special and lost, wanting destruction.

Millardo wanted to duel him, lock blades with him, swap punches, feel the sting of his bullets, but he was left with an incomplete horse race. He would have to find a way to draw him out so they could finish things properly.

****

Peacecraft was dead, and Millardo wanted to be grief stricken. His sister was sobbing all over the house. He had no words to comfort her, and what was worse he didn't want to comfort her. He was still upset about her meddling with One. He regretted not making a bigger claim on the young man earlier, not that claims would stop his sister from obsessing.

He walked through the house to his old room. Noin was waiting for him. She wanted to comfort him. She wanted him, always (but Sally too, Sally too). He entered the room and when she shut the door he kissed her roughly and then as things progressed he fucked her with little joy.

The next day he would disappear. He would leave his sister to handle the funeral and everything else related to the Peacecraft name.

****

Noin would call him Marquise to tease him. They would ride their horses through the large property and then one day when she was smiling and teasing him he decided to kiss her. He kissed her and thought how it made so much sense that he should love her. He wondered why he hadn't thought to kiss her before.

She was soft and lovely. She was good at all the same things he was, maybe better. Her eyes were a wonderful and bright violet. They'd been friends forever and now they could be so much more.

"Do you love me," Noin asked.

He blinked in wonder. Hadn't he just kissed her?

"I do," he said. "Why would you doubt that?"

****

"You want to leave," Treize said.

"Yes." Zechs replied.

"Why?"

"I have other things I want to do."

Treize grinned. "What do you think you can do with that rag tag group?"

He gritted his teeth and then said, "Destroy you."

"I have always admired that about you, Six. From the moment we met you've been honest with me." He stood up from his desk. "You hate me that much."

"No, not you."

Treize chuckled.

****

He had cornered her in the barn and watched her fight against him like a wild cat as he pressed his lips to hers. Then she kicked him in the stomach and he rolled off of her in pain.

"If you ever touch me again," Josephine hissed, "I will kill you with my bare hands."

Millardo laughed through the pain in his gut. He staggered to his feet and stared at her.

"Treize the only one good enough for you," he asked.

She brushed her hair from her face. "You're a fool," she replied flatly and stormed off.

****

"Don't just watch," Noin had said and stretched out her arm to beckon him.

He blinked and approached the bed. Sally caught his wrist and tugged him forward.

"I'll play nice this time," Sally whispered.

"But I won't," he said and didn't even look down as Noin unbuttoned his trousers. He just watched as Sally smiled up at him.

****

There was a knock on the door of his room. He rose to answer it. A young man with dark hair stood on the other side. He was one of the brothers, the youngest.

"Odel wants to see you about something."

Zechs nodded.

"Oh and Quinze said to please contact him about Acht."

He nodded again and stalked off towards Odel's quarters.

****

Eleven took the bouquet and looked over at him curiously.

"I am…" He paused and then continued, "I'm sorry for your loss. If you need-" He stopped and saw she was frowning. "Any resources you need are at your disposal."

Eleven nodded looking at him her eyes cold but sad, and then she said, "Thank you."

****

Zechs took the journal out of his pocket and left it in the middle of the desk. Eleven needed to upgrade her security, or maybe she was waiting for him to waltz in. It was hard to say. He looked around the room and then at the shadow box on the wall with the dried roses in it. He huffed and removed it, taking it with him and leaving everything else untouched.

One day he'd understand it all. Maybe the small treasure would be a helpful clue.


	48. Bad Luck Arrives By Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midii sees and hears evil, but is rather particular to whom she snitches. And about whom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

"Not enough risks. Not enough risks." She picked up a broken stick from near her shoes. The piece was about the size of a paperback and wet to the touch. She threw it along the meadow and watched it rising into the deep purples of the night sky. Then it came down. The cicadas didn't even pause to acknowledge the graceless action.

"Gravity. _Always_ gravity."

Midii Une would have thrown both her shoes after the hunk of wood, but they were still relatively new and kept her feet dry.

She glanced back at the silo and wondered if she should try with Odel again. Odin obviously preferred Lucille. But at least he had some sort of feelings she could discern even if they weren't _for her_. Odel was like talking to a polite wall. She'd gambled on Odin that night, and as it was she'd left herself with no other options for a ride back to the city after the White Fang gathering.

The night felt like rain. Or maybe she just wanted the universe to share her sadness.

"Don't even bother," Midii whispered to the rapidly moving clouds. They crossed over the moon like stretched wool. "You never do anything nice for me. I won't take what you want to give me either."

A few yards farther she saw an abandoned car. The door was unlocked, but it had obviously been stolen as she didn't even know where to begin with the wires dangling and broken under the wheel.

"Damn it!" She pounded on the wheel, but the horn was quite unsatisfactorily broken. She turned to look at the empty backseat. Her hair swung like dry rope against her cheeks. Maybe if she had done something differently with her hair?

She pushed herself between the seats and crawled into the back. Curling her knees and putting her hands under her head, Midii closed her eyes. Eventually, she fell asleep.

***

She hadn't meant to seduce him, she hadn't set out to meet him at all. In fact, she might have slept through the whole encounter except that he'd coughed politely and said, "You should be more careful about where you choose to pass out, Goldilocks."

Frankly, besides the long gaps of panic between her heartbeats, Midii didn't have time to be properly frightened. She sat up part way, reaching out with her arms as if to measure the space around her. The car. She'd fallen asleep in it. The first noticeable difference was that the engine was running.

"Can I have a ride into town?" she asked. Her throat prickled as if it were overly moist in some places and dry in others. Had she been sleeping with her mouth open?

"I'll just turn on my meter," he said, twisting around in the seat to shift gears.

_He was joking_, she realized. Rubbing at her eyes, she had missed her chance to get a good look at the guy. He was older than she was. His brown hair stuck to his skin as if he'd been caught in the damp. Looking out the window, she observed the rolling morning fog. Metal was shining in his ear, looped around. His hands on the wheel had long fingers.

From the way he dressed, he wasn't high class. And that he was driving a stolen car suggested he wasn't very reputable either. Quite like herself, if she were being honest. Midii didn't care about thinking on that too long, so she said snottily, "Is the radio broken or do you just like listening to the windshield wipers?"

He turned his head not to look at her, but she saw enough of his face to wonder again _who_ she'd gotten mixed up with. He was pretty. He said, "It's broken."

"Right." She leaned back, crossing her arms, and stared as far as she could into the distance. Traffic was picking up as they got closer to the ramps into the loop and the heart of the city itself.

He took the expressway and the tires kicked up water spraying loudly enough to cover the sound of her own breathing at least. Then he followed an exchange and got back on the main road again only going the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?" She wanted to push the back of the seat. What an awful day, week, _life_.

"Which one is your exit?" he asked simply. "Or I could go around again if you'd prefer."

_Funny_, Midii hesitated. What had she been lecturing herself about the night before? And this felt much like when Sally had offered to keep her safe. He seemed the same. The sort of person to give and give and all she had to do was say...

"I don't have a home."

"Oh."

She waited. Had she been right? Did it work?

He changed lanes and went toward the shops downtown. "Well, in that case."

***

"Wasn't expecting to see you, sir," the host was saying. Midii already felt inadequate, but this place was beyond over-priced and she was under-dressed to sit in their dumpster out back. But it wasn't as if the guy was dressed right either. His jeans were soaked wet along the ends and he was wearing flip-flops. Maybe. She definitely saw naked feet. "But we're always glad to see you, nonetheless. Is it just the two of you?"

The host gave Midii a sideways assessment. But it wasn't what she expected. He didn't look at her as if she were _less_. He seemed to think she was _wrong_. She wasn't certain which was worse.

"Yeah, just two. Although, I'd really like to eat upstairs." He was tall once he got out of the car. They'd left it in a tow zone. Probably on purpose.

"Of course, follow Danielle."

Danielle was beautiful. Shining, straight black hair. A large smile that looked right on her face. "We've got some good catch today, Mr. Barton, if you're interested in fish for breakfast, again."

Mr. Barton held the railing as they climbed the polished wooden stairs. "I'm not a fish person, really. But I'm sure it's nice."

Danielle paused, holding the door open. She didn't look at Midii. "My mistake, I was almost certain that... well, I must have been wrong."

"Do you come here a lot?" Midii asked after being led to an elegant table by a large glass wall. Part of the window bent out and a pleasant breeze blew inside with the aroma of flowers. She could see the garden over Mr. Barton's shoulders if she leaned in her chair.

He fixed his napkin and glanced at her almost bashfully. Or maybe he was just a quiet person, Midii considered.

"No music here." She glanced around the empty room, empty tables, empty seats. In the corner was a small stage, also empty. She hummed a few notes. She didn't sing well, but she wasn't absolutely tone deaf. She'd heard tone deaf on the streets and thrown trash at it.

"Stop." Mr. Barton had his lean fingers pressed into his temples.

She quit and then he apologized. "Headache, but... it's gone. I should introduce myself. I'm Trowa Barton."

"Midii Une." She was proud of her smile and her still hands. She could be weak when she needed to be and helpless more often than she cared to admit. But when faced down by a mountain lion, she kept her calm facade. _Three_ out of any of the Numbers, she had to run into Three. She fixed her napkin in her lap. How the hell had she not recognized his name when the host said it earlier?

He seemed to want to say something. Perhaps it was the obvious family name that she shared with Eleven. Oh, Midii knew about Eleven. She'd started keeping track of the Numbers like collectors cards--always eager to learn something new. She couldn't anticipate when that information might be useful. And White Fang had been _oh so interested_ in the information that Sally had given to her. But she could only ration it out for so long. Maybe she could feed the same information to another source and stretch it out longer.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. He didn't seem very _Three_. She wondered if he had an alternate self. Rumors were that all the Numbers were mentally broken. But he didn't seem broken as much as emotionless. Or bottled up. She'd heard his humor, but not yet seen him change his expression.

"You seem very sad," Midii said, trying to be tactful and learn something, but covering it with nervous compassion. He was buying her breakfast afterall. "Have you lost someone?"

"No, I've always been alone."

***

Fate had to intervene. They'd let the restaurant door close behind them and it was the city again. It either brought people closer together or they'd say, "Nice meeting you." and disappear into the crowds. Midii rubbed her nose and shifted her weight. The leggings under her skirt were starting to itch. She wasn't certain she smelled good anymore, although she had made an effort the day before.

Nearby a man walked with an obvious shuffle sliding one of his legs without picking up his foot. A woman sat on an upside-down bucket and was polishing a harmonica. She reached behind her for a plastic cup and set it down as if expecting payment for her performance.

"Still no place to go?" Three asked her. They hadn't said much during the meal. She'd wrestled over getting something expensive or trying to appear modest. She'd nearly ordered three eggs. Three. But determined he might see that as an acknowledgment of something more. She didn't want to be more than a street girl who fell asleep in cars.

"Hadn't thought much about it." Midii looked up at him. No temper came from his posture, just an overwhelming sense of caution. "Maybe I'll stay and listen to the music."

"Sure." He didn't even bother to shrug. The indifference in his voice was just as flat.

"You alone, boy?" The harmonica player spotted them.

Trowa put his hands in his pockets and walked closer. "No, this is my friend." He opened his palm and pointed his fingers at Midii as if he were offering her for services. She'd seen the street pimp movement before. But she didn't _think_ he meant it the same way. Was he checking to see how she reacted?

"Usually you have that reluctant dancing partner of yours, but it sure did draw a lot of attention that one day. More money for me," the woman howled. She was missing several teeth. Midii wondered if that effected her musicianship.

"Cathy?" Trowa murmured, as if puzzled. But the harmonica began to shrill until something like a melody surfaced from the breathy notes.

Midii's spirit caught on the high energy and she, very cautiously yet strategically, gripped Trowa's hand that wasn't pressing into his forehead. "Dance with me?" she offered, pulling slightly. Something about the music felt like a wild dance and she wanted a partner. He was pretty and if he was Three (he had to be Three) then he could be wild.

He did spin her, almost mechanically as if he'd been wound up and let go. Midii let the dizziness snatch away her vision until he caught her in his grip again. His eyes peered at her, as if he wasn't able to see her face or if he _couldn't_ see her. But then he pushed her away just as quickly. Midii spun outward lifting her hands and laughing. The music picked up, but instead of continuing, Trowa walked past her and said, "Come along."

Maybe it had been the knowledge that she could never draw out Odin. Knowing that he'd been screwing Lucille had left her feeling foolish when she wanted to feel something very different.

She didn't know what Trowa's excuse was. Maybe Three didn't need a reason. He did make her feel good though. She didn't get to see anything of his apartment before she had her back on his bed.

"Do you live here?" she asked, but he didn't answer. They were too preoccupied for words. When she tried to touch his scars, he pinned her arms down. Everything after that was basic. Basic and emotionless. But the pieces fit.

Later, she thought about cutting his hair. He had so much of a forelock that it had tickled her face when he put his mouth on hers. But while he was sleeping--and what a stupid idea that was if Midii had any inclination to hurt his person--his sleeping face moved with the emotions of his dreams. He rolled over once to find her body and wrapped himself half over her murmuring into her neck with small puffs of warm breath.

She put one arm over her head on the pillow and, although captured under his weight, she could glance around the room, curious about what things he had and what things were. But the bedroom didn't tell her anything. Through the door she saw the corner of a table piled high with papers. _Those might be interesting_, she thought.

Her stomach rumbled. Was it afternoon? She wanted to wash and maybe Trowa would buy her another meal. Or let her stay. Midii started to wonder what that would look like. What angle got her a ticket in this place? Three wasn't that bad, but did she want to get associated with a Number?

She hummed wondering what it sounded like from where Trowa had his ear pressed against her chest. He reached up and flicked a finger against her forehead, "Nicole," he said. "Stop it."

_Who's Nicole?_ Midii put her free hand over her eyes. Three was just like the rest of them.

***

When she got out of the shower, Midii had part of her answer when she saw that he'd set some of his clean clothes next to her mildew infested outfit from the night before. She fished out her bra, but decided his button down shirt was large enough to be as decent as she felt like being if they weren't going out.

He hadn't gone to get food though, as Midii sorted through her disappointment when she found him sitting in the front room. He only had one chair and he'd put away the papers from the large, slanted table.

She smiled at him when he noticed her.

"So what's your deal with White Fang?" he asked.

"You were there too," she replied, knowing that everything that was said just then would be important later. Then she looked down at her toes. "This guy told me about them. He was sort of into it, but apparently not into me as much as I thought. He was a nice guy, or so I thought."

"Have we met before?" he interrupted.

"It's a big city," she laughed. He didn't join her and the lack of reaction led her to think things were going quite wrong. Had she misjudged the situation that badly? "Hey, listen, I can go." She managed a shaky quality in her laugh. "This sort of thing happens and it don't mean anything more than what it was."

His impassive face was the worst for the way he didn't seem to blink when he appraised her. She almost thought he might hit her, but the atmosphere wasn't violence. It just wasn't anything.

But even as she thought that, she watched his shoulders relax and his breathing become more regular. "Midii, I just... I have a hard time. You're a very nice girl."

She knew what came next. His clothes had been a miscalculation. "I can change."

"No, that's not it. I was wondering if you might..." he paused as if uncertain what he was going to say. But that was alright.

Because Midii knew the next part.

Gravity always brought her down. Low to the surface was where her ears could hear the murmurings of the street. And Three was one of the back alley gods who needed people around him. Which suited her just fine. He couldn't guard those papers forever.


	49. Two and the Big Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo stumbled into the Numbers one way. Solo found them another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

For a while the Numbers game consisted of: _who trusts who_ and manipulating people into doing things that seemed like a good idea at the time and then hope the shit you scooped didn't fly back in your face when the wind changed.

Duo Maxwell hadn't been a street kid. He might have been. He might have even claimed to have grown up on the streets, people had a way of believing whatever he told them. Truth was he'd grown up with a silver spoon. Graduated from college early and had been dead _bored_ of his future prospects. Duo didn't care much for his _bright future_ so he fought against it. And found he liked fighting.

_Check your facts_, Duo would have warned his men--if Two had bothered to build a crew around him. Well, he had Howard, but the old guy liked to do things that amused him and couldn't invest anything more substantial into Two's plotting.

Eventually, Three had suckered him into doing jobs for Sally Po, like taking care of Eight before she cut his throat and earned her Number.

Duo didn't hold that against Trowa. Not really. But he suspected that Trowa had set the whole thing up so that he could stake his rights to Eleven's discarded safe cracker. Even if the goods were slightly damaged, Trowa had been alright with the cut-up packaging.

The final humor of the situation with the switchblade was that one sibling took Hilde's first victim. The other took the second.

"Someone needs to teach that girl how to cut." Those had been Catherine's first words to him. She'd been in town trying to figure out the score when it came to her brother and the messed up experiments with Five.

Duo shook his head, but only a small distance as he could feel the bandages on his neck tugging at his recently rebound skin.

That moment had started a rather mutually beneficial partnership. Duo was bored. Being unable to talk was boring. And Catherine had such an entertaining _goal_ that he couldn't resist wanting to see it play out.

He hadn't counted on Solo. But if he'd taken his own advice, then he might not have been surprised by the facts.

***

Catherine's house was small on the outside, small on the inside, but just the right size for the three of them. Lonnie had a full-time nanny who took her out and they went to do things kids were supposed to do when they had normal parents.

Catherine waved from the doorway as she watched the minivan pull out of the drive.

"Someone once told me that we don't get any wiser, we just get older," Duo said catching her from behind and setting his chin on her shoulder.

"Let me guess, Howard?"

"Yeah," Duo acknowledged. Then he ran his foot along her bare ankle. He lifted and dropped the diamond jewelry she wore there. "This is a bracelet."

"I like it where it is. And because I'm wearing it there." Cathy spun in his arms. "Doesn't mean I like it any less."

Duo rolled his eyes even as she gave him brief kisses.

"Cathy, when I propose, promise me you won't wear the engagement ring on your toes."

"Now there's an idea." Her eyes sparkled.

***

Duo thought he was going to get lucky, but as it turned out Catherine was more in a mind to develop strategies. She worked out her plans by doing a crossword puzzle upside down. She set the lid to look at the picture, another strange quirk in her approach. But most of the people who were Numbers or ran in, near or against their circles had peculiarities.

He took the other kitchen chair and spun it around so he could sit with his arms resting against the back. "Why don't you get out?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Cathy asked, trying a piece. Then set it aside to choose another.

"Well, this life was never you. Until Lon," Duo said his name respectfully. He knew better than to joke about Cathy's first love. "And then Five and, I know you were worried about Trowa. But that guy seems to be doing okay. And Sal's dead."

Cathy's eyelashes rested against her cheeks as she took a couple long breaths. Then she busied her hands around the puzzle again. A satisfying snap sounded before she said, "Can you explain to me why Trowa acts like the past five years never happened?"

Duo rubbed at his neck, then adjusted his braid so he could fix the band at the end. "Of course I can't. I don't get it either, but what a break. He doesn't even remember half of the horrible stuff he did."

"He didn't remember Nichol."

"Well, that too." Duo wondered if Nichol was as taboo as Lon. "But he does remember you."

"It's like he never forgot me," Catherine paused to lean her chin into her hand.

"The human mind is really weird. We think lots of things that may or may not be true. Who knows?"

"Do you want some tea?" she asked.

Duo made a face. "C'mon, Cathy. You know I drink coffee."

***

She didn't have coffee, which probably happened when they spent more time in the City than living Catherine's quaint _other_ life. Duo had strapped some cash into a belt and decided to go for a jog past the grocery story.

He plugged in his music and started at a leisurely stretch getting his muscles used to the idea of going faster. He wasn't a real runner, but sometimes he had to run and he'd liked it then. More so because he actually got away from whoever was chasing him.

Becoming Two had been an accident. He'd been bored, busted up a few big guys that were picking on a little guy on his own. Except he hadn't been on his own. Soon after someone who claimed to be part of a local gang showed up and thanked Duo for taking care of the boy. Duo listened to their speech, but frankly thought their idealistic vision for the city was significantly unrealistic. He told them to get lost a few times before pulling his fist to take a punch on them too.

That's when Aretha had showed up. She took one look at the situation and made a hissing, _get lost_ noise at the lame gang.

"Thanks for watching out for Roche," she'd said. But glancing around, the boy had run off and far. "That's what _they're_ supposed to do..."

"So what do you do?" Duo had asked. She offered him a can of soda, which Duo declined. "Can't." He rubbed his stomach.

Aretha had told him about the Numbers.

Duo had done the math on his fingers, "One little guy on the street, getting picked on by common criminals, except he's supposed to be protected by this group of dummies, but separate and over all this is a group of elite individuals known as the Numbers?"

Aretha had nodded, her mouth very much full of whatever sandwich she was eating.

"And this gal, Eleven, she fixes you up with whatever you want just because you work for her?"

Aretha had nodded a second time, her eyes sparkling with humor.

"Sign me up!" Duo had lifted his hands. "I want to play."

Of course, the games had been less fun when Eleven wanted to kill him. But a lot had changed between them since the early days.

Duo jogged past small houses like Catherine's. Then the neighborhood changed to hide away behind tall trees. Ahead he could see a gas station. Beyond that a row of specialty shops, cash stores, a carpet place, a hair dresser and a coffee shop.

Jog another five blocks or stop and get some real beans? Duo grinned to himself. The music started to pick up some steady drums and Duo shadow boxed in rhythm while waiting to cross the street.

After a break in the traffic, Duo carefully made his way down a grassy incline and then swallowed to steady his breathing before opening the glass door. The light had made it so just before all Duo could see was his own reflection. When the door was open, he was face to face with a man that could have been Duo's reflection if he'd just short off all his hair.

The other guy's eyes scanned Duo's face and then changed into half-moons over a cheek-splitting grin, "Baby Bro!"

***

Duo was not related to Solo. They'd been fraternity brothers, until Solo managed to get himself expelled from the one school that would accept and keep anyone who could pay tuition. That had been Solo's problem. So his parents had packed up their deviant son and moved far far away. Which had been the last of the Solo situation.

"Do you live around here?" Solo asked. Neither of them had moved from their side of the open door. Another customer anxiously waited just behind Solo and watched the men as if they might pounce each other.

Solo did, but turned it into a hug just as Duo went into a defensive posture.

"What are you doing here?" Duo asked.

"Riding things out," Solo said demonstrating his perpetual inability to lie. Instead, he hid details by watering down his comments. Five more minutes and Duo would know the full, honest-to-God truth. Duo wouldn't even need to ask.

"I'm short on cash," Solo admitted. Then took a drink from what had to be a five dollar coffee.

"Yeah," Duo observed. "You always were."

"So I thought I'd get caffeinated and rob a bank."

Duo let his shoulders relax and he pivoted to let Solo out of the doorway. The person just behind him nearly broke into a run on the way to her car.

"That's a pretty stupid plan," Duo grumbled.

"Want to help me come up with a better one?" Solo raised his eyebrows. Solo's other problem was that he was handsome, with enough charisma to be likable. He'd stolen a few girlfriends from Duo during their semesters together. Duo thought briefly of Catherine back at the house.

"What do you need?"

"I could just rob the..."

"That's _my bank_ you'd be robbing," Duo flared with irritation.

"I did ask if you lived here."

"No you didn't." Duo put the heel of his hand against an eyebrow with enough pressure to thwart the beginnings of a headache.

"Yes, I did," Solo smirked. "It just took me this long to get my answer." He drank his coffee again and looked up at the shop sign. "I need about two thousand."

Duo grimaced.

Solo pointed back at the door. "Were you here to get coffee?"

***

Lonnie was back before Duo. Catherine looked up from where they were reading a book together on the living room floor. "Get lost?" she asked.

"Daddy!" Lonnie squirmed trying to escape from her mother's arms.

"He's sweaty and gross, dear." Catherine was only able to hold Lonnie back for a few twists before she insisted on greeting Duo with a hips crushing embrace.

"She's definitely got your grip." Duo's smile was wrapped with pain. Fortunately, Lonnie didn't like things that smelled bad and Duo had managed to cross the threshhold of her tolerance. He and Catherine had to talk over her steady chatter about taking a bath and using soap.

"I ran into some trouble," Duo admitted.

"Numbers?" she asked, surprised.

"Not so easy." Duo sat down next to her on the floor and leaned back against the couch with a groan of relief to be home.

"You do smell," Catherine wrinkled her nose. "But tell me. What is it?"

"This guy I know, from way back. He's up to his eyeballs in debt to one Milliardo Peacecraft."

"Six?"

"Yeah, apparently my friend, Solo," Duo clarified. "Likes to bet on the ponies and then on cards, wheels, dice, you name it. To round things off he insulted Relena Peacecraft by saying that all her gaming joints are rigged."

"Well they are. But did you just hear this or..."

"Oh, Solo's in town. He asked me for a couple grand," Duo paused. "And when I asked him if that was all... he said, 'Why could you give me more?'"

"How much?" Her brow furrowed, then Catherine changed her tactic. "Why is this your responsibility?"

"It's not," Duo admitted. "If it was just money, I'd have told him to get into rehab. But there's more."

Catherine waited.

"Solo thought he'd earn the cash by taking a mercenary gig. He's working for Alex and Mueller."


	50. Replacement Variables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things in the Numbers and shifting and slipping into different places, but it's all part of the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

The tea service was hardly ever used and Une looked over at the silver set curiously when it was brought in. She shrugged and continued to flip through the journal from her youth that had been returned. Every so often she would pause in her reading to look up at the blank spot on the wall where her shadow box of dried roses had been, and a smile would tug at the corner of her mouth.

Hilde poured out the tea which seemed to be some sort of green tea blend. She set a bone china cup near Une and then took a seat on the either side of the desk with her own cup, taking a sip and then immediately reaching for the sugar.

"Bitter," Hilde muttered and then added, "But Iria said you were drinking too much coffee."

"And tea is better?" Une asked shutting the journal.

Hilde nodded and looked at the journal. "Is it important?"

Une blinked and shook her head then she pushed the journal over. "Go ahead, if you like."

"I just ask," Hilde said picking up the journal and turning to a dog eared page, "because Eleven laughed for a good five minutes before she noticed that the roses were missing. Then she decided she didn't want to be around and you were here."

Josephine Une nodded. "I knew he'd come and return the journal," she said and took a sip of the tea. She grinned, it was perfectly brewed. "I did not think he would take the roses, but then I suppose… He's just testing the waters, because he knows I know."

Hilde nodded a bit confused, and then looked over the journal. "Code," she said softly, amused by the deep teenaged inclination for absolute privacy. She chuckled. "Very easily deciphered code."

"I was fourteen when I started that." The lady took another sip from her teacup.

"I bet this was just a decoy."

"Oh?"

Eight nodded and sat back in her chair. She read over the page in her hand.

_Dinner with the families. Noin in horrible yellow dress._

"Bouncing around like I did between the street and foster care I never bothered with a journal," Hilde said, "but I remember this one girl who had one that could be easily found by parents and nosey brothers, and one that no one would ever even guess to look for."

She watched the amused expression on Une's face and then flipped to another marked page.

_If he touches me again I'll kill him with my bare hands._

That was more telling than she thought she find. She flipped further.

_First kiss. Very little regret._

Hilde looked over at Une and asked, "Who was that first kiss, I wonder?"

"No one important."

She took a deep breath and then flipped to the last page which was not in code.

_Why doesn't she fight back?_

"Crush on Nine much?" Hilde giggled and shut the journal. She titled her head to the side and then reached for her teacup. "If I were the worrying type-"

"Teenage crushes are what they are, and I lost interest in Noin very quickly."

"Not up to your standards?"

"Not even close."

****

The room was dark and Relena was trapped under the weight of Lucrezia Noin's sleeping form. She was far more awake than she felt she ought to be after such an intimate evening, but the problem was as wonderful as it was, Noin was just a surrogate for what she really wanted. She shut her eyes and bit her lip as she realized that the feeling was, all around, mutual.

She was learning a lot though, and she was unbelievably successful at running the gambling joints. In fact she found ways to make the loan sharking and game fixing ten times more efficient and undetectable to those people who were trying to look for that sort of thing. It was a true achievement, and she suddenly found herself enjoying being compared to her father.

Relena sighed as Noin stirred slightly. She wrapped her arms up around the older woman's back and tried not to listen to anything that Noin might mutter in her half-asleep state.

This was her choice, her first real sexual relationship. She would play with boys, but it never really meant anything. It was mostly to get attention from people, like her father or Millardo or Heero. She'd lure some unsuspecting boy or young man out into the shadows and time things so he'd only get so far before some burly bodyguard would stomp over and break up the moment. Making out and getting felt up was about as far as she ever went with anyone, except there was that one boy who really seemed to like her.

What was his name? Kai?

She couldn't remember, but she'd gone so far as to start giving him a hand job before she was caught by her father. And the man just looked at her. He didn't even yell. He just looked at her and walked off in disappointment. And all Relena could do was shove the poor boy off to go finish by himself while she stormed off to her room to sulk.

Trying for Heero's attention had been the worst, and it haunted her still because despite what she knew she still wanted it.

And her brother-

Almost as if on cue Noin's lips brushed along Relena's collarbone, and her hands lazily trailed down between the princess's legs. Relena almost laughed, but it was not her brother Noin was imagining her to be. She was trying to pretend Relena was Sally.

Relena sucked in a breath as adept fingers stroked her and Noin nipped down the soft curve of her chest. She shut her eyes wanting to regret giving these first moments of intimacy away to someone she didn't love, but it was hard to regret the choice when it felt so good.

Somewhere Dorothy was laughing at her and she didn't know why.

Somewhere her brother despised her for taking what he didn't even want anymore.

Somewhere, maybe even Sally was amused by the way things were playing out.

Relena found herself moaning aloud. It was terrible of her for wanting this, enjoying this, taking and giving it all back the same way.

Eventually, she was going to have share her true suspicions with Noin about Sally's murderer. She was afraid to do it, not so much for the fear that she'd lose her brother, but for fear she'd lose Noin to vengeance's cold grip.

She was like her brother that way. It didn't matter that she didn't really love Noin, so much as Noin was hers. It was all greedy possession and she wondered if that was all she ever felt regarding anyone.

She dug her nails into Noin's back and tried not to hear the unexpected name that ripped from the woman's throat.

****

Eight sighed irritably and shut her eyes as she pressed her palm into her forehead. The surveillance photos were disappointing to say the least, but almost expected. She leaned back in her chair and then sat forward when Une's office door opened.

"Problem?"

"Midii," Hilde said.

"Not living up to expectations, is she?"

"No, not at all." Elbows on her desk she held her head in her hands. "Once Three's finished with her she's going to have to be neutralized. I just know it." There was anger in her tone.

"And?"

"I hate that I'll have to show the Numbers how well my skills at cutting have gotten."

Une placed her hand on Hilde's shoulder. "That bad, really?"

"Unfortunately… unless someone else gets to her first."

****

"I'm going to offer Miss Peacecraft a position," Treize said matter-of-factly.

"What?" The bitter edge around Eleven's tone could not be hidden.

"She's doing well. Making money and staying out of trouble for the most part." He said with a grin. "We'll give her her father's old number."

"Why not make her Five and just rub salt in everyone's wounds?" Eleven crossed her arms over her chest and then said, "It isn't my decision, but it's a bad idea, and you know it is." She leaned into the office wall near the small sidebar and poured herself a glass of brandy. "Thirteen?"

"Hm?"

"Don't think you can make me his replacement. You used to play this game with Millardo." She brought the glass up to her nose and then took a sip. "He took my roses."

"Fascinating." He looked at some photos on his desk. "She's doing well, isn't she?"

"Only because she hates you," Eleven stated. "Hates you and loves you like only a daughter can. You should be careful. It's very likely that she's smatter than you are."

****

Une looked over the file in her hands and stepped into the maximum security prison interview room. Trant Clark glared at her from behind a fresh black eye. She grinned and sat down opposite him.

"You've been a good boy so far," Une said softly. "Smart too, the way you've managed to stay alive. I was almost certain you'd be dead by now."

Trant huffed and looked away.

"Have you switched sides?"

He shook his head.

"You can tell me the truth. It's not like I can actually do anything to you in here," and as she spoke her tone changed.

Trant Clark looked over at her and found himself shaking slightly. "Eleven," he muttered.

"I had thought Five warned you?"

He nodded.

"Good." She slid the folder over. "You should give that to your lawyer and see what happens. After that, switching sides might be advisable."

"Why?" He asked unable to control the shaking in his hands as he picked up the folder.

"Because I was ordered to," Eleven replied. "Trust me, Mr. Clark, if I could do as I pleased you never would have even made it into jail. Don't waste this golden opportunity, or I may be given leave to do exactly as I wish."

He nodded and she stood up. She walked towards the door and then stopped. She looked over at him.

"And, Mr. Clark," she said with a grin, "it would be very slow going. Think about that."


	51. One Life to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heero thought he'd learned to play it safe. But that strategy puts him directly in line with Six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

"Enjoying the wife?" Six asked.

"Don't confuse this meeting with friendship," Heero said dryly. They stood on the half-constructed overpass and watched cars in the distance. The funding had been reallocated and the development of the bypass had been halted. Abandoned.

"You wanted a favor?" The taller man squinted as the daylight pierced through the shadows of early dawn. "I can connect the dots, too."

"You chose your path," Heero shrugged. "I chose mine. But this one wasn't either of those."

"_One_," he chuckled. "I remember when we first met. You barely survived."

"Sally put me back together." The observation was straightforward, flat. "You're lucky I'm not sentimental."

"Sure you are." Zechs didn't laugh, but the sound he made was close. "I'm lucky that you didn't run _far_."

Heero scowled. Zechs turned inward to lean close as if they were companions of another sort. All that mattered in the end was that Zechs did what Heero asked. The rest was just posturing, but he couldn't resist another jab at the man who kept chasing him. He rubbed at his fingers, encouraging circulation into his chilled fingers.

"Hey Milliardo. You and your sister are exactly the same," he grinned. "Looking for entertainment in all the wrong places."

The other man reached out as if he might put his fingers into Heero's hair. He held up his arm, blocking the movement. "Stop kidding yourself," Heero muttered.

"I'll take care of it for you," Zechs said, unfazed.

"I owe you one." Heero slouched away ready to go home to Sylvia. He groaned when he heard Zechs' push one final comment.

"I will be satisfied."

***

"What does the blinking red light on your phone mean?" Mariemaia said, flashing her badge.

Deliberately not looking at the shining identification, Wufei picked up the receiver on his phone and said, "I think it's called voice mail."

She grinned and skipped to her side of the arranged desks. She'd brought in a plant named _Gert_ insisting that Wufei talk to Gert if he needed to. Mari certainly didn't refrain from doing so.

His thoughts cut off when he realized he was listening to Heero's voice, "...your help. Not a good character, this one. Call me back." The recording was from several days earlier.

"Oh." He sat back in his seat and stared blankly at his keyboard. Then he pulled out his cell phone. Heero Yuy's phone answered directly to voice mail. He tried redialing.

"Hello?" A woman's voice answered. "Is this Wufei?"

"Yes," he said, glancing at Mari who was listening but also diligently shining the leaves on Gert. "I was returning a message."

"Heero's out, but I'll let him know you called."

"Great, thanks." Wufei hung up.

"Short." Mariemaia said, glancing up from under her strawberry-red hair. Her eyes looked uncommonly pale that morning. They reflected mostly blue except where he could almost see the green from Gert. She continued, "Who was that?"

"Sylvia Noventa, I think." he answered.

"Hey, I know her! She's a really good person." Mariemaia sat upright and grinned. Then she hesitated, "Why is she calling you?"

"I'm an acquaintance of her husband..."

"What?" Mariemaia stood up with both hands outstretched and pressed against the desktop. "I had no idea. To who? Who did she marry?"

"Heero Yuy."

The change was immediate as her nostrils flared into a huff. Then she chuckled. "Gosh, what a long time ago. That guy ruined my sixteenth birthday party. I don't know why he showed up, but Relena Peacecraft was there and she would not stop. You would have thought it was her birthday when he arrived. So he ended up with Sylvia, huh?"

Wufei nodded, somewhat taken back by the onslaught of Mari's connections into the social lives of the Numbers. Or did she know?

"So what did she want?"

He shook his head, "It wasn't her. Heero left the message." He reached for the tea that Mari had brought for him to try. She said it was so that he could drink something with her if they went to a coffee shop. He considered the flavor and the purpose of Heero's call.

"It's bothering you still, isn't it?" she asked, pausing from whatever message she was composing on her laptop.

Wufei smiled halfway for her. "He'll call back."

***

Heero typically took care of his own messes. Well, with an exception for the year when Trowa did it for him. The darkness over his emotions at that time had been so comprehensive that every memory seemed steeped with shadows.

Heero's first unfinished mess had been put into Acht's jurisdiction and the man had sworn to put One down _like a dog_. The wounds Heero suffered during that raid had been enough to kill several dogs. But somehow he'd survived.

Even when he welcomed death, he couldn't seem to slip away.

But he'd promised himself that he was done with that lifestyle. He did not need to eliminate Acht by assassination, although that was the best and only way to guarantee that he and Sylvia wouldn't be troubled.

Heero crossed through the trees with the half-finished ramp behind him like an urban mountain. He almost got to the car.

"There he is," one of the lanky thugs said, rather stupidly. Heero counted them. Five. None of them were Acht himself, but they had the aura of the street thugs that Acht liked to hire. Only one of them had a White Fang patch. Which was a fascinating detail, but Heero wasn't interested in staying any longer.

He glanced back at where he'd left Milliardo staring whimsically into the distance. Gone. "Useless," Heero mumbled, then did a quick inventory of his resources. He couldn't go home. Wufei wasn't answering his calls. Duo was more trouble than help, also out of town. Quatre was like putting on a noose which left the one person who Heero had relied on far too much.

Heero was already dashing into the direction of the nearest neighborhood. He calculated he had enough time to find and steal a car before Achts men realized they shouldn't have followed him on foot.

***

Trowa had no trouble convincing Midii to stay with him. She encouraged him to continue in a physical relationship, although something seemed wrong with the picture every time he woke up and found her in his bed. "More?" she would say, as if trying to figure out what she could do to please _him_.

"I think we've got this a little backwards," Trowa breathed a laugh. He tugged at her shirt until her fingers pried his hands away. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be the one making sure you're having a good time. We've got a lot of bad memories to make up for." Midii didn't let him handle her breasts. She moved him whenever his touches got too close.

She was cute. Something about her eyebrows was too severe. And her nose was not dainty at all, but her lips were full and she had to smile to eliminate the somber pout of their shape.

Strangely enough, in the end, he didn't want her. But she pried out of his heart some feeling of remorse as if he was at fault for her circumstances. As if he'd created the problem. He thought they might have that in common.

The knock at the door was in a pattern Trowa recognized immediately. He bothered to put on his boxers and left a surprised Midii in the middle of the bed.

"Heero," he said briskly, making way for Heero to stomp inside. The Asian man wasn't out of breath, but he hurried. Heero's eyes missed nothing.

"Who's she? And where's _Nicole_?" he said the last with a measure of disdain. Disapproval?

"Who's she?" Trowa closed the door, uncertain what Heero was talking about. "What's going on with you? Is Sylvia okay?"

"I don't have my phone," Heero admitted. "Acht sent his men to capture me at an insecure location. They're several minutes behind me if I didn't lose them. In which case, they may go to the house."

"What's the plan?" Trowa found his shirt on the chair and slid it over his head. Nearby, a pair of jeans.

"Warn Sylvia. Get to her." Heero's face was pale.

Trowa smiled reassuringly, "It'll be okay."

"It'll be _fun_," Heero corrected, looking at Trowa oddly.

"Sure," Trowa let the word loose slowly. Then, shoes on, said, "Do you still have a car?"

"Possibly. What's wrong with you?" Heero returned to that question again. "Are you just going to leave her here?"

Trowa considered the situation, something in his gut was aligned with Heero's warning, but Trowa couldn't understand what his instincts were telling him. "You're more important to me right now," he answered honestly. "Midii, stay put. I'll be back."

"No problem," she said from the bedroom, sounding bored.

Trowa found some cash and an abandoned service revolver he'd found at a crime scene. For an unguarded moment as he spun around too quickly while picking things up that he needed, Trowa felt dizzy and cheerful as if he should reach out and kiss Heero.

He must have made a movement to do just that because Heero flinched back but smiling. "Okay, that's more like it. Let's go."

Trowa's arms sagged and he reoriented himself. Calmed and no longer manic. "Yes, lets."

***

Midii stayed in bed five minutes longer before getting up and putting on the rest of her clothes. She could hardly believe her luck. She was alone. And alone in Three's apartment. She immediately went to the drafting table and glanced around wondering where Trowa had put those papers that she had seen. Or if not them, any information that she might be able to sell back to the police. Or White Fang.

She had started to move things around. The empty picture frames which were just creepy and not like the person she'd found Three to be. Then she accidentally upset his container of pencils and had to pick them up, leaving some shavings on the floor. Her fingers couldn't pinch up the debris.

_Calm down. Think, Midii,_ she scolded herself. _No one's watching._

The phone sat on a short table with a drawer underneath. She crossed over and pulled it out to see papers inside. But nothing useful. They were sketches of a person. Well, pieces of a person. Dark eyes on one page. A mouth on another. Ears. Then a foppish dark head of curly hair. She resisted ripping them in frustration, but she was not gentle when she stuffed them back into the drawer. Where else to look? Behind the furniture. Under it?

The phone rang and Midii jumped with her hand at her throat.

Heart racing, she considered the old fashioned device for a moment before lifting the receiver and putting it to her ear.

"Trowa, hey. It's me."

She listened. It was a man's voice, but not one that she knew.

"Who is this?" she asked, glancing around the room. Then she noticed something had been carved under the phone as if someone had lazily taken a pocket knife and drawn in the jagged letters.

"Who is _this_?" The voice sounded full of indignation.

Midii read the word she'd found. "Nichol." Then she considered a curious leap in logic. _He hadn't said 'Nicole'..._ "That's you isn't it?"

The man continued to sound upset, "What's _your_ name? Where's Trowa?"

Midii hung up the phone casually letting the heavy piece she'd been holding settle with a clunk and faint ringing of the internal bell. She eased open the drawer and rearranged the pictures she'd been holding a moment before. A man's face. A man's voice.

Not that she knew what it meant. But it certainly explained somewhat of Trowa's attitudes. How cold he was to her, even when putting on the appearance of being kind.

"We've got a lot of bad memories to make up for," she repeated his words, shaking her head.

"I felt bad thinking I was using you," she said to herself. On her knees now, she checked under the table and behind the sparse furniture. "Now I'm not going to feel bad at all, Three. Because you use people too."

She rolled on her back and saw the air vent above the bedroom door.

"_Voila._"

***

"Who's the girl?" Heero asked, yanking on the steering wheel to take a corner before on-coming traffic.

"She's just some girl from the streets. Got tangled up in White Fang and I thought I might be able to steer her back onto the right path." Trowa had visibly gripped the door handle and pressed his knees against the dash to keep from being flung about the car.

"You're doing _what_?" Heero said, incredulously. He was only a few blocks from home, but Sylvia wasn't answering her phone, the house phone or the phone he'd left behind. Trowa dialed again and put his cell phone to his ear. Heero was grateful for the phone, but he had to ask, "And when did you get that?"

"What do you mean?"

"The phone, I thought you hated them. Nothing but the one phone in your apartment and we could call you there if we needed to." He accelerated and the light was still mostly yellow as he made the intersection.

"I don't know why I thought that," Trowa seemed puzzled looking at the device in his hand. "I just went and got one."

"Before or after?" Heero asked. When Trowa didn't respond right away, Heero asked again, "Was that before or after you chucked Nichol out again? Because it's pretty obvious there isn't one thing of his in that apartment."

"His?"

Heero knew that Trowa often _forgot_ Nichol, but his absentmindedness wasn't present. Trowa actually didn't _know_.

"I'm having a long conversation with your sister when this is over," Heero warned.

"Heero." Trowa noticed first.

He had to stop the car because of all the emergency vehicles blocking the road. Looking upward, a group of people stood in a cluster on a front lawn.

The sky above his house was blotted with dark rolling smoke. The structure itself was charred black from a massive fire.


	52. The Geometry of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A staggering trip from the future to the past to the present and the pasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

The rain was pouring down saturating the well manicured grass of the cemetery. The grave was still open and all but two cars had left the sight. Quatre Winner watched as the dirt was casually shoveled into the grave. His black suit almost completely soaked through. His hand clenched in a tight fist.

"Are you satisfied?"

He turned, eyes narrowed and expression dark. His sister stared back at him, umbrella in hand. She watched the way the muscles along his cheek twitched and she tossed the umbrella away.

"Alright, go ahead." She said coolly. "Show what kind of monster you really are?"

Quatre blinked and he stepped back. Iria's arms were folded over her chest and for the first time he saw reflected back in her eyes the legends he had been told about her by Rashid. He understood for the fist time how his older sister could have ever been granted respect by the Maganac Corp.

"What are you going to do," she asked bitterly. "I haven't much left except my life. How will you take it?"

He shook his head and then looked her over. "When did you take one?"

Iria shook her head. "I didn't. It was thrust upon me." She stared at him for a while and then began to walk away. "Don't follow us."

"Iria!"

She moved on through the rain towards her car, hands in her pockets.

"Iria!"

She shut her eyes as she opened the door to her car.

"Forty-one!" He yelled. "Forty-one!"

****

Quickly, quickly! Areatha thought as she raced through the damp streets of the city, cutting through alleyways, and vaulting over fences. Her feet were soaked through as her shoes splashed through puddles and she skid along slick surfaces since her high-tops had very little tread.

The young beat cop chasing her was in really good shape and he was pretty relentless. She could hear him close behind her. She scrambled up a fire escape and then slid into an open window. Passing the occupants of the shady motel room without so much as a whispered or thought apology. She left the room and scurried down the stairwell, arriving out on the street.

She continued running and was suddenly pulled by the scruff of her collar into an alley.

"I see you made it," the young man said breathing roughly. "How do you run so fast?"

Aretha looked up at the taller man and grinned. "I'm small and aerodynamic," she said with a laugh. She watched as a few officers ran past the alley she was standing in and then looked down the narrow path between buildings and started to inch towards the other end street.

"Wait, for me."

"Otto, you'll never fit all the way down." She whispered back to him. "Just wait it out."

"Do you have it?"

Aretha rolled her eyes and pat her chest twice. She had it. She had the small pouch of diamonds and she would relinquish them to her boss, whoever that was going to be. The recruiter hadn't exactly said.

She emerged slowly from the alleyway listening for the sound of sirens or shouts from the police. There was nothing and so she walked, very easily, and without any trouble back towards the scene of the crime and then passed the crowd and into a secluded bar.

"Do you have them?" A man asked at a table.

She grinned and titled her head to the side as if she didn't know what he was talking about. She went to the bar and sat down. The man came up behind her and she eyed the bartender. Then she sprang over and ducked behind the bar as the bartender plugged two shot gun rounds into the man's chest.

Aretha crawled over to a small trap door and punched it open before sliding into it and then running down the narrow corridor to a door. She opened it slowly and then stepped out onto a street. She took a breath and then jumped back as a car slammed on its breaks.

"Get in!" The young man driving shouted and made a quick hand signal.

She opened the door and relaxed into the back seat of the car.

"Miss Walker, that was, without a doubt, the coolest thing I've ever seen," the recruiter said with a smile. "Let's see them."

She reached into her jacket pocket and tossed over the small pouch of diamonds.

"Everyday going to be like this?" She asked with a grin.

****

"I'm not sure I should be doing this, Little Miss." Rashid was an imposing figure in the boxing ring. "If you get hurt-"

"I'll hide the evidence." She took a deep breath. She was only fourteen. "I need to be able to protect myself. I'm not as fragile as father thinks I am. I will be strong."

Rashid nodded. "As you wish." He swung and sent her flying onto her back.

She lay there for a moment and then staggered to her feet. She shook her head. "Once more with feeling," she commanded.

****

Hilde hated it when they tried to run. The building was abandoned and even if the guy managed to lose his bonds he wouldn't be able to find a way out. There was only one way to go and it was back the way he had come from.

She took a breath and listened to the sounds of running along the dark corridors. She took out her gun. She didn't really like guns, but she was efficient with them having learned to fire one in the police academy. She stepped cautiously along and then spied a shadow that was not one of her men. She pulled off two shots and the man fell forward.

She approached the body carefully and then sure he was dead whistled to her back up. When they arrived she gave them a dark look.

"If this ever happens again one of you is going to pay," she said sternly. "He shouldn't have been given the chance to run."

The men nodded.

She stepped over to one of them and looked him over. "Are you new?"

"Yes, ma'am." The young man said.

Eight nodded and walked off. One of her closer subordinates walked a stepped behind her. She adjusted her hat and said, "He's a problem. I want you to bring me his information."

****

Aretha's leg landed square on the man's shoulder knocking him flat to his stomach. There was a small cheer in the little bar and she blew a few strands of hair from her face before stepping back and then grabbing at her shoulder that was beginning to throb.

"Kickboxing?"

She looked over to see Eleven standing in a dark shadow with her arms crossed over her chest.

Aretha shrugged. "A girl's got to protect herself. It's worked for me so far."

"I can see that." Eleven grinned as two men walked passed her and handed her two huge wads of cash. "What shall we do with the winnings?"

****

"You've gotten soft," Rashid said as he watched Iria working the punching bag.

"I know. I thought I was making better choices." She hit the bag again and then huffed in irritation. She looked over at Rashid who was clearly disappointed. "Will you help me get back to where I should be?"

He nodded.

"Don't let anyone know."

Rashid looked torn.

"I can't get pulled all the way back into this, but I need to be able to defend myself."

"Little miss-" He nodded and then said, "I'll teach you something new. It'll suit you better I think."

Iria grinned. "Thank you."

****

Iria pulled at Une's arm as they ran through the rain out of the sorority ball. She had kicked off her heels and didn't care that she was ruining a three hundred dollar dress. She and Une kept moving until they reached the pool house. The building was dark and quiet. Only the rain could be heard battering the outside.

The door shut and Une chuckled as she was pushed back against it and kissed feircely.

"Where did all this come from," Une asked at the seemingly new strength and desire for dominance her friend displayed.

Iria grinned, her gloved hands sliding along the smooth silk of Une's black dress. "I've always had it," she said quickly as Une tugged at one of her white gloves. "I used to box you know?"

Une shook her head. "No, I didn't. So did I, once."

"Well that explains a lot."

"Does it?"

She kissed Une again. "I hate these parties." She shut her eyes, stepped back, and then whispered, "You shouldn't let me take advantage of you like this. I know how you feel about me, Jo."

"You'd know if you crossed a line," Une replied and pulled Iria to her with force.

****

Hilde hit the mat and released a deep breath. She blinked as she heard Iria's voice.

"Hilde, Hilde how many fingers?"

She blinked. "When did you learn how to throw a punch?" She sat up slowly.

Iria had a strange half-smile on her face.

Hilde blinked. "Oh, you're the other fez?" She shook her head.

"I think we should call it a night." Iria said softly.

****

Lady Une stood in the doorway of Iria's bedroom and watched as Iria and Hilde slept. There was an odd duality there. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. A memory flickered through her mind and for an instant she could feel Aretha standing across from her, a ghost watching the same scene.

"I think we need to come to an agreement," she heard Eleven say.

She nodded. "Let's not go gently. They're fighters, all of them, even her. We should fight too. It's worth trying for, even in this dark world."

She took a step forward and shut the door of the room. In the back of her head she could hear Aretha's voice, "Girl's gotta defend herself. Girl's gotta fight all the time."


	53. Zero Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre moves Nichol back into the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

Nichol almost had the television reception working reliably upon the flip of a switch. He paused for one hopeful second and then flipped the switch, twisted the dial and then grinned as the image came in without any interference.

He'd been so engrossed in the project that he didn't notice he had company until he heard the slow clap.

With nowhere else to sit, Nichol stayed in the middle of his bed. With no place to go, he didn't bother getting dress. If it hadn't been for the antique television he'd found on the top shelf of the closet, Nichol would have had nothing to do. He looked up, saw Quatre, then set the television in front of him on the bed.

He waited to be spoken to. The situation reminded him of when he'd first been taken in by Three. Learning a new number was never easy, but this situation was more out there peculiar than anything Nichol had encountered before. And he'd known Eleven.

"Do you play chess?" Quatre asked. "Obviously, you've got some unexpected and free time on your hands."

"I know how to move the pieces," Nichol admitted.

"Put on pants. Follow me."

Nichol wished he'd put on shoes when Quatre wasn't looking. The carpet was eerily underused and overpriced. He didn't like how it seemed to swallow his feet, moreover it only added to the vulnerability that he felt already.

He'd seen the hallway before. Nichol had a suspicion that one of the other rooms was Dorothy's when she wasn't on the third floor with Quatre. Then an open common room with only the elevator as an exit and that was only accessible from the use of a key. The common room had been empty before, but Nichol wasn't terribly surprised to see a chess set and a tea service nearby.

"Which color would you like to play?" Quatre asked, motioning that Nichol should sit. Nichol took black and watched as Quatre served them both. Nichol knew better than to drink right away, while Quatre showed no hesitation at all.

"I see I'm white then," Quatre chuckled. "Is that because I'm wearing white?"

Nichol shrugged. "I wanted to play black."

"Danya," Quatre smiled easily. "You're not the villain. You're in love. Which is why I'll understand if it was you who used the phone to call out. Who was it? Were you trying to reach Trowa?"

Nichol broke into a sweat. He reached for the tea, careful not to let his hands shake. The steam might excuse the redness on his face.

"Eventually, I learn about everything," Quatre explained. "I try to withhold information which isn't useful to you. Or information which will harm you. Really, I'm keeping you here to protect you. Trust me."

"Are you protecting Dorothy too?" Nichol asked.

Quatre glanced to the side, a strange vulnerability that he must have wanted Nichol to see. "Please don't make Miss Dorothy feel insecure about her position with me." He looked at Nichol then with a simple shifting of his blue eyes.

"Which side goes first?" Nichol asked, looking at the game. Eager to do something else, and, if he admitted it to himself, somewhat starved for interaction of any sort.

"Oh, I'll let you, but not yet," Quatre said the last part in a hurried fashion. "In fact, I'd like you to leave for a moment. Briefly. Perhaps you should go into that closet." He pointed.

Nichol stood, not understanding, but obedient. Then he heard the elevator.

"Take your tea," Quatre said. Then he turned over a third teacup that Nichol had overlooked originally. Quatre filled the next cup and the arrangement looked as if it had always been for two.

Closing the closet door, Nichol sat in the chair. Obviously Quatre had arranged for Nichol to be comfortable as he was hidden away.

The elevator opened, Nichol could hear the chiming.

"Miss Schbeiker."

"Quatre."

Chairs were moved. Tea was offered.

"Were you playing chess?" Eight asked.

"Simply considering my first move. Sometimes it takes me hours to determine which direction I should go." Quatre laughed at himself. "Did you come to see Four?"

"Yes," she answered. "While stirring the pot on White Fang, I thought it might be useful to release some of our more... lively candidates."

"Alex and Mueller, I take it?" Then as if seeing her nod, Quatre continued. "Those two need a proper shepherd. Are you game?"

"I prefer to trust my staff," answered Eight. "I thought you might know how to rouse those young lions from their slumber. Give them someone who can managed their special version of chaos. Then it occurred to me that they always seem to show up where you're involved."

"Me?" Quatre chuckled, as if surprised. "I thought you were here to see Four."

"Her too. Although, I wouldn't say that Four would listen to me as readily as you are."

"And why should I listen to you?"

"Who's in the closet?" Eight said, her voice more distinct. She must have been looking right at the place where Nichol was hidden away.

Quatre whispered, but Nichol just made out the words. "Someone forgotten." Then as if he'd leaned back he said, "Hilde, we'd be happy to help you. I don't suppose you'd return the favor? I daresay it's already something you've considered."

"What's that?"

"Midii Une. She's found one of our Numbers in a rather vulnerable state. I'm sure it'd seem an equal exchange. Besides... she might be able to give you a last snitch on Sally's murder."

"Midii," Eight sighed.

"Think of it as a favor and a gift," Quatre said, sounding on edge. "Some of us would not be remotely kind to her."

"Someone forgotten?" Eight said.

"Let's spare him that responsibility," Quatre agreed. "Three might not understand."

Nichol dropped his teacup. It wasn't empty and the carpet absorbed the liquid. It splashed on his feet. The muffled noise still sounded as if a explosion had gone off. The woman on Three's phone. Trowa was in danger. He put his hand against the wall and leaned his weight into his arm. His thought stumbled in a worried confusion.

Eventually the closet door opened. Quatre gave Nichol enough space that he didn't feel as trapped as he might have otherwise.

"How much of that did you hear?" The blonde man asked. "Enough?"

Nichol nodded.

"Did you use the telephone?"

Nodding a second time, Nichol pulled his arm back and set his face into it.

Quatre bent to pick up the tea cup. He crossed to the service, poured more into the cup and set it next to black. "Come play chess, Danya."

Eventually, Quatre captured one of black's rooks. He examined the piece, holding it's length between his forefinger and thumb. "I once won a game simply by using my rooks. But my rook functioned better with a second piece. A lesser piece standing guard."

"I see," Nichol said, not understanding anything except that he was losing badly.

"The pawn protected the rook, and the other side doesn't take the pawn away for fear of the rook," Quatre said. "Until they did. Anyway, I want you back on the board, Danya. I just can't give you back to Trowa or it'll kill him."

"Oh," Nichol said. "Can we fix that?"

"Possibly, if my sister can figure it out," Quatre grinned. "But she's not so favorably disposed to me overall. However, her research should come in handy. And Eight is rather sympathetic to the next generation of Numbers, including Three, even as she loves Eleven."

"Fantastic," Nichol moved his next piece.

"Good _idea_," Quatre said, moving to neutralize the strategy Nichol started.

"Why don't you have a number?" Nichol asked, placing his knight.

"Not my time yet," Quatre said. "The number I want is... occupied."

"Check," Nichol said with a small measure of satisfaction. Then Quatre took the piece.

"Maybe we should leave the strategy to me," Quatre suggested. "I can't promise that I'll end up on top, but if I do I can make a place for Trowa. And if you survive, I wouldn't be surprised if you're not right next to him."

Alex and Mueller. What had Eight said? _Give them someone who can managed their special version of chaos._

"Who should I say sent me?" Nichol asked.

"Tell them Zero." Quatre studied his tea leaves. "They'll know what that means."


	54. The Ungrateful Tenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pieces of Midii's past echo off each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

There was darkness and pain, a lot of pain, more pain than she thought she could bear. And she screamed until she was hoarse when the knife dug into her skin. She felt it constantly. It never left her dreams and she woke up with tears in her eyes and a silent sob in her throat. After a while she had learned to stop making a sound. After all while she thought she'd stop waking with tears on her face. They had to dry up eventually, eventually everything did.

Midii was shaking and she couldn't wake up. She wanted to wake up. She stretched and crawled through the dark pain of her dreams, the slow sink of the knife in her chest carving out ownership, and death. Somewhere light poked through the tremors of darkness, and there was a voice singing. Singing a lullaby she'd only heard once before.

Her eyes opened and she recognized the coffee table in front of her. She blinked and realized that she was still shaking, but someone was holding onto her. The lullaby sung softly, slightly out of tune, and it was in Spanish of all things.

"Y tan, tan, tan." The sound stopped. "Are you awake now?" Sally's voice. Sally's soft and unforgettable voice.

Midii almost cried out loud, but held it in. She shook her head.

"I haven't seen anyone with night terrors like that since med school," Sally whispered.

She couldn't speak. All she could think of was the lullaby, that sound that had once been an angelic rescue. Why hadn't she realized it before? Why didn't she remember the name of the officer who had saved her?

"You're soaked through with sweat," Sally stated. "You should shower and change."

Midii nodded, sitting up slowly. She looked Sally and then threw her arms around the older woman, still half lost in the nightmare that was her memory.

"You're fine," Sally said, hugging her tightly. "You'll be fine."

****

Hilde Schbieker had found a dry and fairly brand new futon mattress that had just been thrown out onto the street. She was very excited by the find and gathered the mattress up to take over to her small hiding place. It was the back alley behind the French restaurant in a small nook under a set of metal stairs. The space was dry and for the most part free of insects and rats. She laid out the mattress there after rearranging a few of her other things.

She was in between foster homes at the moment. The last one, the guy was a little too touchy-feely for comfort and the one before that had a drinking problem that rivaled her father's. She would stay in her little nook for as long as she could while she took herself to school. It was a good spot with enough light to finish up her homework, eatable leftovers from the dumpster, and if no one was looking she could use the cold water faucet on the outside of the building for a quick rinse.

The best part about her little nook was that it really couldn't bee seen from out in the alley. One had to really look to see it was even there, and she could look out without really being seen.

She was in the middle of a complicated math problem when she heard a rustling by the dumpster. She looked up and saw a familiar figure looking through the scraps. Hilde made a small whistling noise and the person at the dumpsters looked over curiously.

"Midii," she whispered.

The young woman blinked and then looked around before discovering the entrance into Hilde's hidden nook. She crawled in and took a seat next to the other girl, sighing at the luck her friend had.

"Nice place." Midii said softly.

"For now." Hilde said and closed her math book with her homework inside. "I mean I can't just camp here and keep an eye on the place since I'm going to school. Someone is bound to take it from me, but I hope they appreciate it. It's a good spot."

Midii nodded. "Why do you still go?"

"To school?"

"Yeah."

"I want to."

"Oh." Midii pulled her knees into her chest.

"Want to stay for the night," Hilde asked. "Where's your mom?"

"Probably spending the night in the tank again. Someone tossed her like twenty dollars and she bought the biggest bottle of vodka I have ever seen." She sighed again. "It's going to take her a while to crawl out of it."

Hilde nodded. She knew the feeling, but comparatively she was luckier than most. She was luckier because she kept her drive. She didn't want to stay and felt she could drag herself out of the gutter, somehow or other. She had this fantasy of her mother out in the world attending rehab and eventually trying to find her, bringing her to a nice home.

The light was fading fast and Hilde looked over at Midii. "Stay tonight. It's supposed to be cold." She didn't get a response. "I have a can of vegetarian refried beans. We can share."

Midii nodded. "Yeah, sure." She looked at her clothes. It had been a while since she had looked for a new top. There was a hole forming on the front and she felt like people could see her chest.

Hilde reached over and grabbed the can of beans and opened it. The girls passed it around until it was empty. Then they gathered up the bits of bedding Hilde had found and laid down on the mattress. Midii started to shake a little until Hilde wrapped an arm around her.

"I won't let anyone take you," Hilde said.

Midii shut her eyes but didn't sleep. The lead weight of hope burned in her stomach as Hilde held her close, keeping her safe, but there wasn't any such thing. There couldn't be. Not anymore.

****

She traced her fingers along the scars that created the number. Sometimes she had to touch them, but generally she did everything in her power to avoid seeing them, or letting other people see them. She had just stepped out of Sally's shower and felt more refreshed than she could ever remember. She stood in a towel looking over her reflection, hand drifting over the raised skin that never felt properly healed.

"I had hoped those would have gone away," Sally said, and there was pain catching in her throat.

Midii started and turned to see the older woman leaning in the doorway eyes cast to the floor.

"He knew how to cut in deep," Midii replied. "I shouldn't be alive."

Sally looked up and was visibly hurt by the remark. For a moment Midii thought she could read Sally's mind as the detective turned and walked out of the room. She felt the unspoken statement, "But I saved you."

She sighed and got dressed quickly.

Sally was in the kitchen nursing a cold cup of coffee. Midii wanted to be grateful. She wasn't sure she knew how to be. She entered the small space and sidled up to the older woman. She reached out a hand to touch Sally's cheek as if to draw the woman into a kiss, but felt the gesture immediately rebuffed.

"Don't do that," Sally said softly, but sharply. "Don't pretend to want something you don't. If you're grateful show me in another way. If you aren't I can hardly blame you, for all you've suffered."

****

"Hilde," Midii said as the young woman began to gather her school supplies.

"Hm?" She turned a chipper pixie like expression on her face.

"I could…" She paused and bit at her bottom lip. "I could watch this place for you."

"You don't have to, but I wouldn't mind if you took it over." She grimaced and looked the girl over. "Why don't you come to school with me? I mean maybe this time-"

"No. I don't want back into that mess. It just makes things worse." Midii pulled her knees into her chest. "I'm better off here."

"Stay safe," Hilde said as she crawled out of the nook.

Midii shut her eyes and wondered for the millionth time why she was still alive.


	55. Numerical Latitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heero's heading for trouble while Nichol introduces himself to the next generation of young radicals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian.
> 
> I feel like I wasn't able to keep all the plot strings on my fingers... but fun. yay! please enjoy... *distracts with shiny*

"Heero." Mariemaia grabbed onto Wufei's sleeve as they surveyed the fire crew trying to manage the accelerated house fire. "Heero's over there, Wufei. Come on."

She stumbled as the terrain changed from sidewalk to grass down the curb to where she had spotted him in the car. Mariemaia had aced her rifle practice but barely passed the requirements on simple running. However, knowing that about herself, she compensated by letting Wufei run ahead. She tried to hide the fact she was out of breath and tucked her hair behind her ears.

Heero was almost chest to chest with Wufei demanding and pointing. He glanced over at Mariemaia and visibly paused.

"Mari warned Sylvia out of the house," Wufei said. He didn't back down either so when Heero turned again they were scowling cross-eyed.

"You know who she is, right?" Heero said. He had always sounded as if he were growling. Mari noticed that didn't change. He was older, though. Or more spent. She could see the aging around his eyes. But he still had a commanding way about him that made her cautious.

"Kushrenada." Wufei shuffled his feet, but intentionally to get back Heero's full attention. "Who's in the car with you?"

"Why didn't you return my calls?" Heero asked instead, then changed his priorities again. "Where is Sylvia?"

Mariemaia glanced back at the house. Even at the greater distance, she could feel the heat from the flames. The city workers were managing to keep it from jumping to the neighboring properties, but most of the lawn was charred.

"I didn't have Syl's contact info to follow up," Mariemaia admitted. "But I had Relena Peacecraft's e-mail still, so I asked her if she knew what was going on..."

"Relena?" Heero took a moment and visibly calmed himself from whatever initial reaction had surfaced.

"Hey, I recognize you from the _station_." Wufei tilted his head to look at the third man who leaned over the roof of the car. Wufei's dark eyes flashed. "You're the sketch artist."

"Three," Heero said.

"What's going on?" Wufei put a finger into Heero's shoulder and pushed. "You said you retired? You were going to give up the Numbers?"

"He's a friend," Heero shrugged. "You've got her." Mariemaia didn't flinch when Heero looked at her, but his expression was cold.

"Okay, fine." Wufei lifted his hands and did step back then. "Show a little gratitude. Sylvia wasn't in the house thanks to Mari's quick thinking." His compliment made her cheeks ache from trying to hide her smile.

"_Mari_?" The other man used Wufei's nickname. He smiled at her as if she were a curious attraction. Mariemaia didn't recognize him and wasn't certain what his interest meant.

"Does Relena have Sylvia?" Heero looked between the two detectives.

"Probably," Wufei admitted. Then a new wave of heat rolled over them as the roof of Heero's house collapsed into a blaze of new sparks.

***

Relena considered her options. When Mariemaia had contacted her about Heero Yuy needing help, Relena realized just how in-the-dark Treize had kept his daughter about the Alliance and OZ. Relena had been ignorant once, before she found ways to explore her talents. But it all happened too late. Too late to bring her together with Heero into _his world_.

And then he'd agreed to give it all up for Sylvia Noventa. When he'd never considered rescuing Relena. And then, deep down, she'd known that it wasn't that Heero hadn't wanted to escape. He simply hadn't wanted to escape with _Relena_.

Somehow, even that truth didn't prevent her from wanting him. And if by building connections to OZ, proving her self worthy... nothing would prevent her from getting him back. Married didn't mean _dead_ afterall.

But what to do about Sylvia?

Relena checked her complexion in the hall mirror then nodded at the guards who held the door open for her. Sylvia sat in the piano room. At one time Sylvia had taken piano lessons with some blonde boy. Possibly the one that Dorothy kept to entertain her.

"Why don't you play something?" Relena asked.

"I don't want to play," Sylvia replied.

Relena sat down in the chair next to Sylvia's and observed the other woman hadn't touched the refreshments that had been provided to her. "Persephone," Relena said softly. "It won't make a difference if you eat the food or not. You're my guest until I say otherwise."

"You burnt down my house." Sylvia's comment was nearly emotionless. Almost. Relena heard the tremble and savored it.

"Ah yes, well, I also _rescued you_ before I burnt it down. All your memories with Heero in that place, gone." Relena took one of the strawberries and it was almost as sweet as Sylvia's distress.

"He will find me."

"Oh, I do hope so," Relena grinned. "I'm rather counting on it."

***

"Do you want backup?" Trowa asked. "It's obvious the police won't do you any good, since the Peacecrafts have some of the best lawyers in the state."

Heero shook his head. "I should have settled things with Relena a long time ago."

"We could help," Mariemaia Kushrenada insisted. She seemed like an all right kid. Trowa had heard of her, but she'd never been around during the rare meetings of the Numbers. Thirteen always had her somewhere else. Schools or camps or, he gathered, the police academy.

"Perhaps you should call me if you need us," Wufei was more discerning. "We can't get tangled into this stuff unless he can show us it's a crime, Mari."

And Trowa smiled at the nickname again. The Asian cop was completely under Kushrenada's thumb. But which one? Mariemaia seemed just as taken with her partner. Perhaps Thirteen liked to play cruel jokes on his children. The two of them argued the finer points of the law, morality and justice completely oblivious to Heero's movement back toward the car.

"Can you get home by yourself?" Heero asked, distracted.

"Of course, but this is Sylvia... I know what she means to you," Trowa asked again.

"You used to be that person, Trowa," Heero said. "But it's not in you right now. Go back to your apartment and keep an eye on that twig of a girl you left in your bed. She's bad news."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Trowa's voice rose, insulted. "I'm not broken."

Heero pointed at his head. "You don't have all your pieces, Three. Be careful."

"Hey," Wufei said, watching Heero drive off. Then, he turned to Trowa and said, "What's your deal?"

"I'm FBI," Trowa glanced at Mariemaia.

"I'm no snitch," she retorted.

***

Alex liked a good soak in the hot tub. Breaking into someone's home, turning on the bubbles, and making the missus give him a back massage while Mueller did target practice around the husband was his favorite scenario.

He was about forty-five minutes relaxed when Mueller turned and fired his rifle the opposite direction. The woman shrieked falling backwards having slipped on the excess water. The husband fell to the floor, a human shaped ring of bullets around the wall.

"Lads," the stranger said. "I know you're amateurs, but you left the front door wide open."

"Who are you?" Alex said, casually. The other man had no weapon that he could see.

"The door was locked," Mueller added, indignantly. Meanwhile the couple had crawled toward each other and behind the couch.

"Yeah, well wide open to me doesn't have to be _unlocked_," he said. "As for who I am? Consider me your new PR representative. And from what I've heard, your reputation needs a lot of polish."

"We don't need anyone to shine us," Alex retorted, over his shoulder. His right arm found his drink and he took a long drain through the straw.

"Yeah," Mueller took another shot. The new guy didn't flinch. "So you've got nerves, who sent you?"

"Zero."

Alex did turn then, resting his chin on his hands just over the edge of the tub. "You've seen Zero?"

The man furrowed his brow, lifting his hand to his chin as if considering them in a new light. "Recruiting's open for the next generations, kids. But while you might have Zero's attention, you'll get not further on this journey until you impress me."

"Zero thinks we need polish?" Mueller asked, still somewhat skeptical.

"Oh, I'll polish you. But the point is to find out if there's anything underneath all that bravado, kid." The stranger pointed around the room. "Nice house, but you probably shouldn't have let the owners slip away. And what was the point of this job again?"

"Ah," Mueller glanced around to find the couple had left through the patio door.

"Do you have a better job in mind?" Alex climbed out of the hot tub reluctantly.

"Get ready to show your stuff," the man said. "And you can call me Danil."


	56. Research Statistics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iria spends time doing research and is confronted with more knowledge that she wishes she didn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by Alithea

The research room of the medical library was bright with the dull shine from the florescent lights. They hummed occasionally, adding a faint layer of extra sound over the turning of pages, the tick of the clock, and the scratch of pens and pencils against paper. Iria was at a table with two stacks of books in front of her. One stack contained books on neurology, and the other a mix of psychology and psychiatric texts.

She was reading through a very large but informative book filled with neurological studies, jotting down important notes as she went along, and checking her watch for the time. She had a meeting with her brother that she wasn't looking forward too. He had been insistent in the invitation which made her angry all over. She had the time for him though.

Iria had decided in the interest of her own health and at the gentle urging and concern from Hilde over the amount of pep pills she was having to take in order to keep going, to reduce her hours at the hospital and take a short leave for personal studies. The hospital put her on shift one day a week in the emergency room and thought it an excellent idea that she should want to expand her medical knowledge.

Her research wasn't the only thing she needed more time on though. She was spending her after hours being knocked around by Rashid as she fought to get back into shape and be more than just a doctor. She needed the confidence and weight the training had given her in her youth. She needed to feel solid and able to fight if things came to that. She hated thinking that she was preparing herself for a bigger moment among the Numbers, but there was no ignoring that voice in her head that insisted she be able to defend herself. And she was preparing to defend herself against more than just her brother or random Numbers and their henchmen. She was preparing for when she might have to defend herself from Jo, Eleven, and possibly even Hilde.

She shut her eyes. She hated to think of Hilde that way. Hilde understood how to get her motivated and nothing the girl did, with that pixie smirk, ever felt like a threat to her. Not since that first encounter.

Iria put down her pen and rubbed her eyes with the base of her palm. She leaned back into her chair and stretched, releasing a slow and exhausted breath. She blinked and then looked up at the clock. Then she froze, breath caught in her chest, when she saw her father striding towards her table.

She shut her eyes and then remembered to breathe. No fear, she had to start letting that emotion slide back a bit.

Her father leaned against the table and eyed the stack of books. "Thinking of becoming a specialist?"

"It's crossed my mind lately." She replied and crossed her arms over her chest.

He nodded grimly and then said, "I hear you're seeing some young woman."

Iria grinned. "I think you're being too polite." She shook her head. "Why are you here?"

"I've been hearing things that concern me, about you." He stood up and stood straight, looking like the intimidating father he was.

Iria was amazed to find that her earlier fear had quite simply vanished and she looked at him curiously. She hated being threatened. She always had. In certain cases you have to take the threats, but she wasn't going to take any from her father.

"I'm seeing three women if you want to get technical about it," she said softly.

"And Treize?" It was a condemnation, even though it sounded like a question.

"Not in the capacity you think." She stood up and put a hand on her hip.

Her father blinked at her and then said, "This is not what I wanted for you."

"No?" She tilted her head. "No, it isn't, but if you really didn't want this life for me you never would have become one of them in the first place. It doesn't matter how sequestered and safe you think you've kept us, things from the life you chose leak through. It spoils everything." She bit at her bottom lip and then said, "Even when you quit you can't ever really escape."

He stood and watched her in silence for a moment. Then suddenly he said, "Three can probably be fixed by the same method you were thinking of originally."

Iria laughed and shook her head. "You were responsible for that?"

"No," he said firmly, and then cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "The other one. That's why the trigger there is more stable."

Her fists tightened into balls and she held her arms straight down at her sides to keep from acting out of haste. "How could you?"

"It's part of the territory. When they-"

"I'm never taking one, but even still, I have already taken a higher oath. You did too." She stepped over to him and then noticed the room was empty and stepped back. "You were a doctor and scientist. Do no harm is in your oath, and that oath overrides any god damned numbers." She stared at him coldly and then slammed the book she was reading shut.

Her father twisted the edge of his mustache and then said, "In that case shouldn't you have committed Eleven?"

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "Leave Jo out of this. I made my recommendation because conventional care wouldn't have helped her. Your experiments? Those triggers? They weren't made to help. They were made to keep her broken."

"He'll make you take one, somehow." He shook his head sadly. "I've failed you."

"Me and Quatre both."

"I've no interesting in discussing your brother." He father said sternly.

Iria huffed and gathered up her notes. "How certain are you about the reset trigger working the same way?"

"Sixty-five percent success rate."

"That isn't nearly good enough." Iria replied. "I have to go. I'm having dinner with Quatre."

Iria's father frowned and shook his head. "Do you think they love you, those women you're seeing?"

She never wanted to have to discuss this sort of thing with her father. She straightened her shoulders and nodded. Then she walked out the door immediately greeted by one of the Maganac Corp. who opened the door to one of Four's cars. She slid inside and looked over at her brother.

Iria shook her head and then said, "I need our father's research."

"Burned a bridge with him, did you," Quatre asked.

"He-"

"It runs in the family, that temper that makes us overreact at the knowledge of something we cherish being taken away." He smirked and then said, "Maybe it's time I reached out to him."

Iria shut her eyes and leaned back into her seat. None of this was going to end well. It couldn't in the world she was lost in, every movement to get out just sunk one in deeper to a sticky black death. She opened her eyes and looked out the window. She watched the city roll by and narrowed her eyes, casting a terrible gaze upon it. She wasn't going to let herself just sink without a fight. There was still light in her eyes and her heart, those would have to guide her.


	57. Incomplete Calculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odel had never really lived life for himself until that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- written by slightlyjillian

Odel regained consciousness slowly. The sunlight was warm. The breeze through the window refreshed his senses.

The moment was all too peaceful. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt truly at peace. Relaxed. His muscles were free from strain and tension. Before, any release that he'd achieved had been brief. So brief.

"I have some things I need to take care of whenever you're ready."

The voice startled Odel briefly. He'd expected Tricia. Then she moved and pulled the covers with her as she turned in her half-sleep. Sitting up, Odel twisted and saw Milliardo fully dressed and in the chair by the door. He must have opened the window.

Odel put a hand to his forehead. Memories of the night before stirred emotions so quickly that he had to close his eyes. Tricia had said it was alright. She'd reassured him that she understood. But it wasn't okay. None of what had happened had been...

"Forget about it. Give it time," the other man said with what might have been some affection woven into the scorn. "But we need to leave."

Odel knew he'd follow that man anywhere. It was too easy to give up control. He was all too welcoming to surrender, when in the rest of his life Odel had to be that person for everyone else.

***

He'd been surprised that Milliardo had taken his own car. The vehicle had been stored in the warehouse since their rendezvous had taken place at the Barnett home. Odel had been thankful that Milliardo hadn't asked any questions about the night of the rally when Six sent his men from the airport to break up Roche's subversive meeting.

He didn't think he could keep any secrets anymore. White Fang was splintering. And so was Odel.

He sat in the passenger seat as Milliardo drove. He didn't care where they went. His forehead pressed against the cool of the glass. He found his fingertips pressing into his lips. Forgetting never came easily to him. He always relived things as if he were again in the moment.

He found the water bottle and drank it recklessly, trying to drown the most prominent memories. The ones that always haunted him.

_Your father and mother were killed, and there's not one damn thing we can do to avenge them..._

_The principal is calling about Odin again. Do you still think you're capable of raising him on your own?_

_Roche has the best ideas! Lucille can't stop talking about him..._

Odel didn't know where he was or where Milliardo had taken him.

"Stay here," came the instruction followed by the sound of the car door. Odel stared at the trees around the vehicle. Then he was reliving the expression on Milliardo's face when Tricia had given way and nothing, absolutely nothing, was between Odel and the man known as Six.

He submerged into the thought as if lost in the coolest blue water.

***

Odel had fallen asleep again. The car was in motion. Then he felt a hand at the back of his neck. A pressure started to pinch behind his ears as the fingers pressed into his skin. Milliardo released his grip, then applied pressure again.

"What was that?" Odel asked, becoming somewhat more alert. The trees became thin. They drove into a neighborhood with houses of such expense that not even the Barnett insurance money could have afforded them. "Where are we?"

"I'm following through on a favor. Although, I doubt this is what he envisioned for a solution," Milliardo said, somewhat sadly. Odel could hear the emotions slipping in and out like lazy waves testing the beach.

"What do you mean?" Odel couldn't clear his thoughts. The sun seemed more piercing than usual. "I feel strange."

"It's the drugs."

"Ah," Odel might have said. As if he knew what that meant. All he could focus on were the pleasurable movements of the hand on his neck. Milliardo had made such promises when they'd come together. He'd wanted to believe they had been sincere, so very much.

"I would have liked to have kept you around longer. Much longer."

"Except?" Odel asked. His voice didn't sound right. The words were heavy on his tongue.

"I didn't meet you first."

***

Back then, Odel had to make sure Odin ate something--anything--beneficial. The younger boy had no shortage of unruly friends and they would spend their extra earnings at the candy store or worse. Odel, frustrated with having to clean up after the parties, refused to let Odin enter any extracurricular clubs until he could keep things in order at home.

Surprisingly, the tactic had worked.

"I like it when we do things together," Odin had laughed nervously, pushing back his dark hair with his fingers. Odel had noticed that his brother had been trying to copy Odel's hairstyle. Even the way that Odel dressed. Except that Odin couldn't seem to get the seemingly weightless dark hair to settle. Once it stuck up, it was up.

"I like it when we can do things together too," Odel agreed.

"Maybe you can teach me about the engine?" The question had been so hopeful. The family project that had won them so much attention and then broken them apart taking the lives of their parents.

"Maybe."

"We can make it work, if we work _together_!"

Odel had no idea where Odin found his endless optimism.

***

The house was open and breezy with the same refreshing aroma that Odel could recall from the morning. How much time had passed? He didn't know. His legs moved, but only just. Milliardo let Odel lean against him until they both settled into a couch.

His jaw moved. He was being kissed. Odel tried to respond, but the touch was so brief.

"Wait here."

_I'd never leave you,_ Odel thought, unable to move. His arms were limp. His head pressed into the couch pillow.

But he could hear. Two women were arguing.

"Come with me."

"But Heero..."

"You'll die if you stay here, Sylvia. Do you think Heero would want that?"

Then they faded away without ever noticing that he was there.

***

The engine had promise, but moreso when Odin tinkered with it. _Tinkered._ Odel tried not to feel jealousy, although that was the chief emotion. How many years had he worked on the project, trying to redevelop the Barnett engine? Then he allowed Odin to sit in on one of his creative sessions and the ideas Odin had within only a few minutes of seeing the design far surpassed anything that Odel had considered before.

He'd barely been able to keep up with the revisions Odin had proposed. In the evening, Odel checked the figures. The calculations were perfect.

Tricia had listened as Odel tried to explain what it meant for the company.

"We can really move forward on this. After a few more tests, the engine could actually be fitted for use in the public," he told her.

"Does that mean you're going to take Quinze up on his offer?" she asked. Her eyes drifted to the side. She always hesitated just before encouraging him, as if she didn't believe in him. She'd paused before accepting his invitation to move in. She'd only just started to wear the engagement ring he'd given to her almost ten months before.

He'd wanted to snap, but didn't have the energy. "What do you want me to do?"

"What do you want to do?"

***

"Relax or I'll hit you again."

Then a heavy noise, as if someone dropped a basket of laundry.

Odel stirred. He knew that voice. Then a woman started to cry. Tricia? When did she get there?

"Odel?" Milliardo's voice was close. "How are you feeling?"

Nothing. He couldn't make a sound. His eyes were closed. He couldn't see.

"Irritating woman," Milliardo said. "I won't miss her. But you... let me arrange you more comfortably. I promise you won't feel any pain."

Tricia moaned in long heaving sobs. Her mouth had to have been gagged. Had she been in the car? How had he not noticed?

"My sister is coming back to burn down the house. They'll find you inside and, regardless of the facts, they will announce that the couple who lived here are dead," he paused. "I wouldn't kill you for just anyone."

Odel's skin was blissfully numb. Every sensation of lips on his face brought ecstasy. Wetness against his cheeks was as delightful. Did that mean Milliardo was crying?

"I might have understood you. Given time."

Still, their first kiss that night had been better than anything Odel felt just then. Like finding something _for himself_. At last.

"Escape this life, Odel."

***

"What did they find?" Zechs asked watching the settled ashes of the roof smoldering where it had collapsed covering everything inside.

"Exactly what you told me," Acht replied, rather smug. He put his hands into his back pockets and pushed forward his chest. "The remains of Heero Yuy and his wife."

"The man and his woman."

"Yes, the fool," Acht considered. "I wondered if he'd go back to the house after my men reported losing him. Some people make their worst mistakes falling victim to love. He might have escaped otherwise."

"Yes," Zechs agreed. "A terrible mistake to make."


	58. When the Numbers Turn Up Counterfeit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nichol enjoys his new job. Trowa doesn't like his as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian

_Nothing has changed,_ Nichol told himself. _Absolutely nothing is different than it was two hours before._

He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the tangles in the curls. Just earlier he'd been informed that he was being let out of a situation where he was a hostage in order to babysit two of the hothead racketeers working under the Numbers. Finding them had been easy for Nichol, not that Alex and Mueller were sloppy as much as Nichol hadn't been able to test his own instincts for so long. He was still capable. It felt good.

And that's what made him trigger the reminder. _Nothing is fixed. Everything's still fucked up and bad,_ he thought. Trowa was in danger, and while Quatre insisted he had that in hand--there was not one thing Nichol could do about it. A vein along his forehead throbbed and became hot.

So he'd been given charge of these two, Nichol glanced at them still arguing in the corner over which job they were going to pull for their next heist. Alex tried to ignore him. Mueller continued to look over at Nichol as if the older man might evaporate and they could relax.

All he had to do was say that Zero sent him and the boys ignited with muted enthusiasm. The authority actually _felt good_. Nichol crossed his arms and set his jaw, fighting against the emotion with a scowl. Mueller saw, his fingers twitched and he dropped his pencil which started Alex on another tirade about picking a racket that wasn't too easy or that just anyone could do.

"You're the guys who were behind the airport," Nichol said. It wasn't a question, but Mueller nodded.

"That was us." He made a fist. "Until damn Six was given the job. He did pretty well for himself on the back of our work."

Nichol declined to comment. Instead he said, "And the wedding massacre. That was you too."

"Sometimes we like to feel the heat that we cause," Alex muttered. "But it sure did shake up the press."

"I felt that one," Nichol nodded. He swallowed down the memory of being in Trowa's apartment. Everything had been alright back then. But that was then.

"You did?" Alex seemed pleased. If he was smart he was doing vibration analysis and determining in what part of the city Nichol had been to experience their blast.

"I don't know what to pick," Mueller growled. He messed up his hair in frustration. "Hey you, Danil. Did Zero say if he'd liked any of our jobs so far? Does he appreciate what we're shaking loose?"

_They definitely aren't random attacks,_ Nichol realized. _These kids have an agenda behind their strikes._

"Don't worry about that," Nichol shrugged. "Doesn't matter if you have long term goals with Zero or not. In this job, you're proving your skills to me."

"We don't even know who you are," Mueller grumbled. Nichol didn't wince, but it was annoying to be a nobody--even if it did give credibility to his current mystique.

"I'm not sure how impressive it is if I have to tell you what to do." Nichol tired of standing in the front room of the apartment where the rude boys had left him. He crossed into what was the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door. He leaned back in surprise. Then chuckling, he reached around the boys' project and grabbed a beer.

Opening the drink, he walked back slowly and sank into one of the chairs. Hooking his leg over the arm, Nichol pushed into the cushions and made himself comfortable.

Alex and Mueller stared at him. Waiting. Then they looked at each other.

"I don't want your fake money." Nichol drank slowly. "From what I can tell, you boys are the criminal type. Not cash people. So what are you doing with all that wasted paper? I wonder. Maybe you should show me that job."

"It's capital for a business venture," Alex began to explain then stopped when Mueller interrupted saying, "Not all of White Fang appreciates their new benefactor. And we don't much care for him either."

Acht. Six. And who else? Nichol thought the beer was rather cheap. These boys thought too small. Even at his most ambitious, Nichol knew that appearance, actions, carried far more weight than talk.

Acht. Six. They had real money.

So who needed the counterfeiting?

"We found this guy. He'd not part for the Numbers at all, but he owes the Peacecraft _princess_ a good deal of cash."

"So we told him we'd make it right with the Peacecraft girl if he would be the middleman with White Fang."

Nichol raised his eyebrow and let the edge of the bottle rest against his lower lip. "Don't want to feel the heat on this one?"

"Sometimes it's smart to know when to let someone else hold the package," Alex chuckled.

"In case it goes off." Mueller moved his fingers as if they were flickering flames. "And it will. It will go off spectacularly."

"Because you're damn awful at making forgeries," Nichol said dryly. He wanted... to rob a bank. He wanted to crack a safe. He wanted to do _something_ that meant he was moving forward. Everything was easier if he did it himself, but then he had these young lions.

"What do you want us to do?" Alex had a finger in his ear. "Rob a bank?"

Nichol couldn't hide his smile then. He pulled his legs down to the floor and leaned forward. If he couldn't do it, then he could watch. He said wickedly, "Impress me."

***

Trowa realized he'd forgotten his apartment key when he was halfway up the flight of stairs. He stared at the door but wishing it open did nothing. Even then, he was puzzled over Heero's reaction to Midii. The girl might be somewhat uncultured, but she was about the most helpless thing he'd ever seen from the streets. Why would Heero consider her a threat?

_"Oh it's the general rumor. Do you like rumors, Barton?"_ That voice. Who was that?

"No, I prefer the truth," he answered to no one in particular. Trowa put his hand on the doorknob and it twisted easily.

"Oh! You're back?" Midii stood in the middle of the front room wearing only her underwear and a different t-shirt from before. A quick glance around the room showed that Midii had been cleaning. Trowa had meant to do something about how impossible the place had become, but with the White Fang job and Midii--he'd been distracted.

"Thanks for cleaning up. You didn't have to," he said, noticing that his keyring was neatly hung from a hook by the door. "That's new."

"You had one in a drawer and there was that pattern of strange holes in that place. So I just thought I'd tidy up..." Midii stopped when Trowa kissed her. He kept closing her mouth with his whenever she tried to speak another word.

He couldn't bear hearing her voice anymore. Each syllable was tainted. _Liar._

She used her arms to push his hands down to her hips. The rules of sex-with-Midii. He had the strongest urge to break them. Instead, he picked her up and fell on top of her into the bed. He needed a distraction from the voice in his head. The one that told him he could do whatever he wanted.

_"You know this doesn't actually bother me..."_

Trowa kept his eyes closed. He tightened the effort, straining until in the darkness he saw brief flashes of light like gunshots, but he couldn't find a face to go with the voice. Midii's voice was distracting. He put his hand over her lips, but she yanked away his hold.

"Don't do that. Too rough," she said, upset. More angry than anything else.

The moment was gone and Midii was underneath him again. He rolled to the side and lay on his back staring at the ceiling. Midii pressed against his shoulder. Her hair tickled his skin.

Then he saw the screws on the air vents had been turned. She'd been searching his apartment--but not finding anything had stayed around, cleaning up the evidence of her looking and buying herself more time. He could see it now. How had he completely missed the evidence? Had he over compartmentalized the details of his different lives and lost something important?

_"You like a great deal of things better than me..."_

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Midii said, disappointed.

"I don't know who you're talking about."

"Fine. That's how you're going to play it," she sighed. Then she kissed his shoulder. "I didn't say _stop_."

He didn't move. Until Heero had said what he did, Trowa hadn't even considered that something wasn't right. But the wrongness of everything settled around him. The apartment was too clean. The sounds were too polite. The jobs were too simple. His cover was too easy.

It was usually at just that time when the job was routine that an FBI agent had his cover completely blown.

But when had it happened? And... Trowa doubted, was that really _what_ had happened?

He was about to ask her to leave when the phone rang.

"Three?"

"Yes."

"Midii Une's name is on the list."

He hung up the phone after listening to the dial tone. That pretty much confirmed his suspicions. He glanced back at the bedroom door. What was he going to do now? Everything had turned sideways.

His shoulders slumped. He rifled through his loyalties for a decision as to what to do next.

Was he going to have to _protect_ her?


	59. Fragmentation of Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre's grip on life is either absolute or nothing at all. Can he listen to another perspective?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -by slightlyjillian

"You should think about moving, Quat," Trowa Barton said from where he sprawled on the bear rug. He had his hands behind his head and balanced on the face of the creature from which the covering was named. "It's not like you couldn't make some serious waves in this city if you started your engine."

Quatre looked up from where he'd been composing a letter at his desk. They were in his bedroom at the Winner mansion. He had things in that room from when he was a little boy. The restitched bear that had its limbs torn off more often than it'd been repaired. The trophies from his brief involvement in fencing and karate. He'd finished both tracks in less than two years, bored of them, and quit. Then he had Trowa. But that one came and went. Quatre hadn't figured out if he wanted to put shackles on that boy or let him continue to roam.

He went back to writing, and said, "Bad joke."

"You still put out about that one?" Trowa's voice seemed closer.

"You're no good to me dead, Trowa."

"So I'm useful?" Trowa pondered the thought, but sounded completely irrelevant of the deeper notion.

Shackles or freedom. One or the other might kill Trowa's spirit but Quatre wasn't certain which would start the path to which inevitable ending.

"Move." Trowa's lips were close to his ear. "Otherwise I'm going. Heero's way more interesting than you are."

"It's my turn and I'll take as long as I like," Quatre retorted quietly. He sealed the letter and watched as the wax cooled around the symbol he'd designed for himself.

"I think I understand you, and then you do something like this." Trowa walked away and found his shoes. "I don't know if I'll come next time you call me."

"Found something more interesting?" Quatre leaned back in the chair to watch Trowa bend over and tie his laces. The slender figure caught the lights and shadows of the fireplace.

"Someone, actually." Trowa grinned up, still tightening the strings. "I think I found _him_."

Quatre's heart throbbed with intuition. He'd gone too long without deciding and now the verdict had already made in the absence of choice. "Oh, that's great," he said, his voice sharper than he intended. He needed to be able to control that, but Trowa made things so complicated.

"You should find someone too," Trowa considered, crossing his arms. "Someone that gets you to make that first move. Otherwise, you'll be dusting that chessboard your entire life with the pieces still in their _starting positions._"

"I enjoy the strategy..."

"Quat, I placed my piece three months ago." Trowa had his hand on the doorknob, but hesitated before opening the door. "You need someone who doesn't want you as much as you don't want them. Maybe a _girl_..." he chuckled. "Then you'll have a dozen kids and all the time say that you have no idea how that happened."

"I don't plan on having a family," Quatre grumbled. Trowa knew that. Trowa knew all about the Winner family _situation_ and the deep currents of unrest around the idea of children. What he'd said had been intentional. It had hurt. It was...

"Goodbye."

***

Love had a way of settling in like a parasite and burrowing through his guts, chewing through his soul and leaving a hollow darkness. Quatre smiled when he saw Abdul's ever present carefree grin under the dark circular glasses.

"That bad today, huh, Master?" Abdul asked.

"The worst," Quatre agreed, indulgently.

"Let me guess." Abdul put a fist under his chin. His other hand balancing the opposite elbow. He raised a finger by his lips. "You let Three's boyfriend go."

Quatre sipped his tea.

"Then you went to see your sister. Iria, to be specific."

The teacup was set in the saucer then put on the table.

"That's pretty much guaranteed to be a disaster," Abdul agreed. "The two people you've always been the most jealous of in one afternoon."

Quatre shook his head, "So close, Abdul. You think you understand me, but you don't. It's not jealousy."

"Right, you have Miss Dorothy." Abdul let his arms fall to his sides. "Should I summon her for you?"

The blond man laughed at that thought. "Dorothy does as she pleases, but maybe I should go _to her_." He paused. "She's starting to see through me, Abdul."

The older man shrugged, "So what? You're you whichever way you look at it."

"What's that supposed to mean? Abdul, what have I told you about strategic thinking?"

Abdul chuckled nervously and waved his hands in front of himself as if wiping away the misplaced comment. "I'm always wrong, nevermind."

"You can do something for me," Quatre waited for the affirming nod then continued. "Have someone watch them both. Danya and Iria. No one is to get in their way or interfere. Just... have someone by in case they need to contact _me_."

"And where are you going?"

"Stop thinking, Abdul. You'll only guess wrong."

"Right."

"And if I don't come back, please initiate the final protocols according to the documents that you were given."

He heard Abdul's heels hit each other and the man saluted with absolute reverence. The absolute lack of hesitation showed the courage and resolve that made Abdul the second best in the Maganac Corps. It only dropped briefly for a last comment, "Will you get some rest?"

"None of that for the wicked." Quatre meant for it to be a joke. Instead, he found his subordinate boldly reaching forward to lift Quatre's chin. Quatre couldn't see those eyes, but the lips were pressed in close observation.

Ten minutes after Abdul left, Dorothy happened to be in the elevator when Quatre decided to retire for the evening. She had been evaluating a piece of Catalonia property and was wearing a new dress. Her hair was neatly arranged. She didn't look at him right away and he wondered how long she had been waiting for him.

"You look very lovely tonight, Miss Dorothy."

***

When Dorothy woke up the next morning, she heard birds singing. A breeze crossed her cheeks and she sat upright. Her hands reached toward the place where she expected to find Quatre, except he was gone. The white sheets were empty and glowed with the morning sunlight.

Dorothy raised her hand to shield her eyes. A window?

She left the room and going down the hall opened other doors. Each room had the windows restored, curtains pulled back and the glass raised to let in the new morning air. She heard traffic and then briefly a woman shouting at a taxi.

Outside the lobby, she found Abdul sitting at his post. His chin against his chest and lips slightly parted as if he'd been sleeping.

"Where is he?" Dorothy asked.

"Morning, my lady," Abdul lifted his chin. "If you didn't notice the tea was set out on your table along with the morning paper."

Dorothy took the command for what it was and, after scowling at the man, hurried back to her office.

She ignored the tea, but sat down with the paper in her hands. Reading quickly, she squeezed the paper tightly until her fingers were slipping along the new ink and she tore it nearly in half. The home of Heero Yuy had been destroyed in a fire with the man and his wife found inside.

"What did you do, Relena?"

What she really wanted to do was find Quatre and stab him after all the things he'd said to her the night before. She must love him afterall, because he'd said as much to her. And left her feeling as if he'd done the same.

***

Nichol sat outside of the Princess Casino. The doormen had tried to get him to move several times, but Nichol's glare had been enough that he suddenly became invisible to them. But not to Heero Yuy who walked right up and kicked Nichol's shoe.

"What happened?"

Nichol looked up and even in the shadows caused by the back light of the morning sun, he could see the weariness etched onto Heero's face. "You don't look so good," Nichol said, instead. Then he stood, his legs stiff from sleeping inside a car. He didn't have a place to go and after he left Alex and Mueller he realized he didn't have anything except a cell phone to which Heero Yuy somehow had the phone number.

"She has Sylvia." Heero jerked his head toward the casino.

"Someone took Trowa from me, but I can't get him back," Nichol admitted. He rubbed his neck. "It's his head."

Heero took a few steps to the newspaper stand, casually broke the glass and grabbed the front paper. The doormen continued to be oblivious to everything.

"He's definitely more normal since the rewire," Heero observed, scanning the headlines. "But that's abnormal for Trowa. Which can't be good."

"The last thing... the last time we were together..." Nichol stopped his thought and looked up at the gaudy light bulbs that pulsed in brilliant pinks and purples against the more subtle beauty of the natural world. "How do you get out of this, Heero?"

"You can't until you die." Heero's answer came without hesitation. Then he handed Nichol the paper.

"Oh, I see," Nichol shook his head. "But Sylvia's okay?"

"I would know," Heero growled. "Nichol, you need anything... I'll make sure you get it."

Nichol glanced up expecting a condition on such generosity, but none came.

"Okay," Nichol exhaled. Then after a long internal debate, he added in a rush, "Want any help getting your girl back?"

Heero considered the counteroffer and then, almost, smiled. "Why not?"


	60. Closing Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mariemaia's about to close her first case while the Numbers have their own internal issues to bring to resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -written by slightlyjillian.
> 
> And here concludes "season one" of Numbers. Alithea and I wanted to make sure this wrapped up, but we still want to write further developments in the same universe. Please enjoy.

The landlord had handed over the keys with little show of resistance, so Hilde wasn't surprised to find the rooms recently repainted and empty of belongings, just as reported. She glanced around the small front room and the half-wall separating the kitchen. She crossed the bedroom to look out the window as if she might see Midii Une and her unlikely benefactor casually crossing the street.

Nothing.

An interesting development.

Hilde returned the keys and wondered what sort of orchid-colored accessories might look nice with the dress Une had picked up for her.

***

Sylvia learned soon enough that Relena couldn't look her in the eyes. Certainly the young woman enjoyed gloating over the circumstances of Sylvia's entrapment and Relena took no restrictions when it came to describing what she wanted to do with Sylvia's husband. However, the glances in Relena's confident expression always drifted away to a painting on the wall, the corner of her chair, or the drapes pulled open to let in the morning light.

The bite of food was uncomfortable in her dry mouth. Sylvia couldn't stop her fingers from trembling, even as she took pride in her own unwavering stare. She would take comfort in the confidence of returned love, regardless of what might happen to her in the hands of this spoiled girl.

She swallowed water from the expensive goblet. It hit the side of her plate with a distressing clank as it was returned.

"Ha!" Even Relena's laugh seemed forced as she looked at Sylvia's restless fingers.

Sylvia squeezed the cloth napkin willing her hands to be still. Just then the other woman stepped into the open doorway of the luxurious dining room.

"Miss Relena." She bowed slightly. Sylvia noticed this woman now wore a rather masculine uniform and the gloves were perfectly white.

"Noin, I thought I said I didn't want..." Relena complained, flipping back her hair. While she could not look at Sylvia, Relena practically leered at Noin.

Noin glanced at Sylvia with a rather bored expression. "Miss Relena, this is going no where. I'd suggest that we meet to discuss terms of ransom."

"I'm not doing any such thing until Heero..." Relena pushed back in her chair with such force the table lurched opposite. In surprise, Sylvia lifted her arms to protect herself.

"I think this has gone far beyond your intentions, my dear Relena. Perhaps you'd like to look over the business papers from the casino?" Noin walked into the room and motioned with those white gloves to make way for Relena to leave.

"Are you trying to vex me? I want to be here..." Relena's cheeks turned pink. Noin, close enough now, put an arm around Relena's shoulders and leaned forward to whisper.

Sylvia heard her name, but could not make out the rest.

Turning to her captive, Relena addressed Sylvia's breakfast plate. "Finish, and I will have someone take you back to your room." Then the girl who had destroyed Sylvia's home left.

Noin's last watchful appraisal made Sylvia feel confirmed, as if _she_ were the one causing Relena's strange behavior.

_Good,_ Sylvia thought taking another drink. This time the glass was set down with confidence.

***

Wufei couldn't sleep any longer, not with a very upset Shenlong yowling in his face and pawing back and forth across his chest. "You're heavy," he protested, sitting up so that the cat dropped into his lap.

He rubbed his eyes while Shenlong waited with a pointed irritation in her purr.

"What is it?" he asked running his hand along her cheek and along her neck. Briefly he remembered doing something similar. Short red hair and amused eyes, just before he'd kissed her.

_Oh_, Wufei pushed off the bedding and opened his bedroom door to find his couch empty but covered with a tangle of sheets. Then he heard humming in the kitchen and the sound of sizzling.

"Good morning," Mariemaia said from the stove. Her arms were busy balancing the frying pan and turning the bacon. But what he saw most was the bare length of her legs and the way her hair curled in random directions around her face. Her eyes smiled with less hesitation than he felt. "You can kiss me again if you want. But maybe not so much I lose the bacon, yeah?"

They'd been reviewing the paperwork again. Something had been making his partner anxious, some thought or connection she couldn't quite pin down. So they'd reviewed every report, and he'd shared with her a few things he'd learned on his own. She'd complained about aching shoulders. He'd reached around to touch her, to offer relief. When she'd turned, they'd been face to face and everything else was exhausted acceptance of a mutual attraction. She'd made the most adorable noises he'd ever heard.

"I want to," he said, as if realizing it for the first time.

Mariemaia raised her brows, set down the cooking, and pulled on his neck to indulge in a kiss that Wufei registered as _sweet_ and something more. He wondered if he would wake up again and none of this had happened.

Shenlong hit his ankle like the punctuation of reality.

With a painful tug on his chest, he knew that he wanted it to be real. But she was back at the stove, pressing her lips together before saying, "Coffee's hot. I was surprised you had any."

***

Heero considered the best alternatives for retrieving Sylvia. Relena had enough staff that he wouldn't easily infiltrate the property before being apprehended. They might not shoot him, if Relena's goal was as short-sighted as wanting to _be with Heero_. Why she could not understand that he did not care for her, let alone love her, was beyond him.

Nichol made a noise from the passenger seat, "Hey, that's it."

Then he considered Nichol, who no longer could be with the person he loved which was far worse. Heero didn't like to think about Sylvia in those terms. She had taught him he must live his life, but he wondered how well he'd learned that lesson if the thought of losing her led to a black void.

Gravel hit the tires with a different cascade of sound and Heero slowed the vehicle to a stop.

"You do realize they're more likely to kill us if we sneak in," Nichol said. "I'm sure that Relena's planned a proper welcome for you."

"I doubt she plans to let me near Sylvia," Heero replied. "She's the only reason I'm anywhere near this place."

Nichol shrugged, "Fair enough. Hey, if you get me killed--no hard feelings."

"Now would be the time to do it," Heero said dryly. Then he watched as Nichol struggled to understand Heero's humor.

"Oh." Nichol's chuckle seemed genuine. He wiped at his eyes with fast movements of his hands. "Yeah, I doubt he's keen on avenging my death if he can't remember me."

"Quatre would." Heero stepped out of the car. "You should know that he's had someone keeping an eye on you for some time."

Nichol nodded and walked over to the decorative barrier and the visible lawn leading to Relena's house. "I doubted he'd just let me go."

"It's not quite like that," Heero set the pieces of his device onto the ground and worked at assembling them. At one time, this was all he did for the Numbers and on a regular basis. The movements were soothing, even as he put together the bomb.

"How so?" Nichol watched.

"He's strange," Heero answered, absently forgetting what he meant to say.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Heero looked up, "Change in plans."

***

Noin found Relena in the surveillance room. She'd dismissed her security and had the cameras fixed on Sylvia's room where the woman sat reading.

"Miss Relena," Noin sighed. "Do you even know what you want to achieve from this?"

"It's developing," Relena frowned, displeased at being caught or interrupted. Noin wasn't certain which. "She's not particularly beautiful. I can't see what he sees in her. But there's something..."

Noin ran her fingers through her hair. The gloves felt good against her scalp, but the sensation in her fingers was distanced. That's why she liked the gloves. It kept a protective barrier which she'd started to need in Relena's home where nothing made sense and the mysteries led to disappointment.

"I think I know what's happening," Noin said. "If I may be so bold..."

"You may not!" Relena snapped. "If I wanted your opinion, I would ask."

"What do you need that you don't have, Relena?" Noin kept her voice level. Whatever potential the girl had, for leadership or for love, seemed to get trampled underfoot of her childhood desires. Why did Relena hold those above all others?

Then Noin heard a noise not unlike someone bursting a paper bag full of air. Relena seemed startled as well. Then Noin noticed the image of Sylvia on the screen had set down her book to look around in confusion.

"Reset the cameras," Noin said, but followed through on the command herself. Relena had sent her security away. No one was watching the property.

The images flickered then returned to their defaults. A quick glance showed everything normal, except for the back sitting room. It had a large vehicle halfway smashed through the glass porch doors. A man got out.

Noin reached for her communication device. Relena murmured, "Heero."

***

Mariemaia told herself that it was Wufei's fault for calling her _Mari_ with alarming regularity. If that caused her to lose focus, then he could have a distraction too. Breakfast had happened too quickly under the watchful glare of Wufei's protective cat.

Then they were back at their desks, Wufei glancing at her whenever he thought she was too busy to notice.

She wasn't too busy to notice him looking, which was why she did jump in alarm when a shadow crossed her desk. A tall man with a visitors pass.

"Dad?" she squawked.

"Hello, my dear," Treize Kushrenada said sitting opposite from her. Mariemaia noticed Wufei stood at the same time, but she waved at him to sit. Her father glanced between them as if _he knew_.

Mariemaia swallowed hard, "Did you come to see me?"

"I did," he said with a fond smile. "But I can't stay long. I happen to be here as a concerned citizen of the city."

Wufei muttered something, but Mariemaia and her father both ignored him. Treize leaned forward and Mariemaia recognized the intellectual curiosity in his expressive eyes. She'd seen the same in the mirror now and again when she'd held a monologue with her reflection while brushing her teeth or washing her face. He had an idea that needed finished.

Then his hand moved and she had paperwork on her desk. A candid photograph of two men standing next to a vehicle with an open trunk. The contents inside were visibly clear.

"Thanks, Dad," she breathed.

"I know you would have gotten to this point eventually," he stood. "Am I correct in assuming you have everything else that you need to do what comes next?"

"What do I owe you?" she didn't want to have to ask, but not knowing would be worse.

Treize considered her for a moment but Mariemaia didn't drop her gaze. She needed to know. She needed him to know she wasn't _on hire_ for his work. She needed Wufei to know that, too, and more than anyone else.

"This cost me very little," he said at last. "Possibly the same as a meal. Yes, a dinner with my daughter would be fitting exchange. Accept the invitation when it arrives and bring your lover."

Mariemaia's face burned immediately and without anything to hide her embarrassment she choked out, "It's not like _that_."

"No?" Treize grinned. "Well, all the same..." As her father left, Wufei said something but Mariemaia missed whatever he wanted her to hear. She covered her face until it returned to a normal temperature.

***

Nichol hadn't expected a lot from Relena Peacecraft, but not even an alarm went off when Heero drove his car through the glass doors. They even let the dust and glass settle somewhat before Heero got out and surveyed his surroundings. For one crazy moment, Nichol expected Heero to sniff out Sylvia's scent in order to figure out their next direction.

Nichol paused to wonder if he was going absolutely crazy.

Instead, Heero turned to Nichol and said, "Regrettably, I have been here before. The only room Relena does not use is down the hall to our left three doors."

"What do you want me to do?" Nichol examined the car that looked rather benign all things considered.

"She has a safe just behind that bookshelf," Heero pointed.

"Blackmail?" Nichol pondered momentarily, before going to work dislodging the shelves from his target.

"Or something," Heero said. "Be quick."

"Right, boss," Nichol recognized the model and wondered when rich people would start checking into the reliability of their purchases rather than accepting whatever was most expensive. He could bust the safe before Heero got out the door.

Perhaps he exaggerated a little, but not much.

***

Relena stumbled into the hall fighting off Noin's restraining arms. "He's here," she shouted almost getting free only to find that Noin had earned herself a better grip on the smaller woman. Relena panicked briefly at the loss of control. She heard more people coming closer, heavy boots and a clear voice asking Noin for instructions.

"You should be asking me," Relena corrected. "Ask me what to do. Bring me Heero."

"Miss Relena, I know you're going to be angry with me..."

"Angry does not begin to describe!" Relena howled. "This has no meaning if I don't go to him."

"I should have stopped this earlier. If I had any idea," Noin continued. "I don't think he will bother, but please see to it that Miss Relena is taken to a safe place and kept under watch until I contact you again."

"I need to finish this," Relena struggled. More faces were surrounding her and the lights flickered briefly before going out.

"We've lost power," someone said.

"Fantastic," Noin replied. "Be gentle with her, but do not let her get away."

Relena's legs were lifted and she kicked, her skirt falling down to her thighs until someone else supported her hips. She heard grunts whenever she got a good hit, but none of them said anything contrary. She would figure out who they were and have them all killed.

"Damn you, Noin, for your tricks." Relena bit her lip. "I just wanted Heero."

She would find Noin and tie _her_ down. Then Noin would know what it was like to be dragged some place she didn't want to go.

***

Wufei pulled Mariemaia back to the opposite side of their squad car as he tapped his earpiece. The teams were getting into place for the arrest, and as much as she deserved credit for the excellent detective work that transformed evidence into _proof_...

He didn't want her anywhere she might get hurt.

She had her fingers on the equipment but pouted until Wufei reached toward her to fix it for her properly. He hadn't seen her blush before, not quite like when her father had suggested their relationship had progressed further than it had. She didn't blush this time either, but seemed pleased from the sparkle in her eyes. Excited even, but not only because of the case. It couldn't be.

"Detectives?" The voice on the radio beckoned.

Mariemaia replied and the operation moved. She looked up at him as she entwined her fingers with his.

As in most cases, the thrill of the capture dissolved into a routine surrender and arrest. Not only had weapons been found in Acht's properties, but they had several unregistered weapons that were all tied to sales benefiting Acht's own businesses. The dots were in place, she had seen the patterns but without knowing what was being moved it was little more than positioning.

Then they had the picture.

Mariemaia took off his headset and suddenly everything was present around him, the sounds and smells and the feel of her leaning into him. "Hey, smile for me."

He tried, but under her direction it wobbled somewhat. "Good catch," he congratulated.

"It's a shame it wasn't for her murder," Mariemaia said, demonstrating cautious concern for the first time since he kissed her.

"If anyone understood indirect arrests, it would have been Sally," Wufei answered, watching in the distance as their peers escorted Acht to containment. Something felt off.

But it wasn't Mariemaia. She grabbed his face and said, "I don't have to give you permission every time, do I?"

He kissed her quickly saying, "This is what gives your father the wrong idea."

"You're so old fashioned," she smirked.

***

Thirteen requested that she visit Relena. His requests were typically loaded orders to clean up high level _messes_ between the Numbers. She considered the destruction done to Relena's home and decided to go directly toward the noise.

Eleven paused when she saw Nichol rush out of a room and down the hallway. He hesitated still pointed the opposite direction with his limbs loose like a dangling spider. Then he turned back to look at her. "Eleven," he whispered.

"Hello Nichol," she said. "I see you have something there."

He rearranged his legs and arms to stand properly. His hand gripped a slim suitcase. "Yes ma'am," he answered simply.

"I see," she allowed him that much. "I suppose you might tell me what's happening here. The front door was open so I let myself in."

"Heero brought me with him. He came for Sylvia," Nichol explained, keeping his words brief.

"I read that One and Ms. Noventa were killed in a fire," she teased.

Nichol swallowed, "Yes, that too."

"Perhaps this situation could use a negotiator," she surmised. "Walk with me."

She noticed that he deferred to her, practically stinking of terror, but not of an unhealthy sort. Nichol had changed since he was under her authority. "I heard about your handicap."

"I can still do my job," he replied, somewhat proudly. Eleven could see more people ahead. They were getting close to the excitement. She didn't have long.

"The Numbers are a system put into place to create order. You remember when I showed you that?"

He nodded, eyes rather lit with curiosity. Perhaps she had overlooked something in him before. A sort of power that came from not having a Number. It reminded her of Iria. Something to reflect on later, she had a point to her conversation.

"When you see him next, make this clear." Eleven stopped walking. They were too close to the others. One more step and they would be amidst the quarrel. She could hear Nine's exhortations over-top One's low threats. Why Noin indulged Relena's whims was beyond Eleven's comprehension.

"See _who_ next?" Nichol asked.

"Tell Zero his purification is _chaos_. And I will not let that happen. Not while I have breath in my body."

"Sure, boss," Nichol said too quickly.

Then realizing his slip up, he sheepishly rubbed his neck. During which, briefly, they both smiled.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Climbing For a Better View](https://archiveofourown.org/works/80209) by [slightlyjillian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian)




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